I’d rip out my heart from its socket,
Take it and tear it apart.
Suck out my soul with a straw,
Let it dance and make beautiful art.
Removing that sad queasy stomach,
And ever-silent voice,
I’d kick them and punch them and will them,
To make some coherent noise.
I’d slam everything down on the table,
And lay them out, rigid and tense,
I’d study and work at and prod them,
Until finally, my feelings made sense.
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(I honestly have no idea where this poem came from.
It’s quite vulgar.
I’m not like that; I swear.
And unlike most people, I’m *really* good at understanding my feelings.
So why upload it?
I thought it might help someone out there who stumbles across my tumblr and realises, ‘Hey, I’m not the only one out there whose confused.’
Because trust me, we’re ALL confused.
Thanks for reading.)
