18 voices in my head

voices in my head

whispering that If I make any cuts,

it’s back to an institution.

 

You’re not part of the family

if you go back,

my older brother said

to disown me.

 

I wouldn’t stop until I made a hundred

and if I lost count, I would start again.

 

But I didn’t want it enough.

I just wanted to feel alive.

 

What strength did I have,

to resist the pink plastic that broke easily,

 

to give up my wants and needs,

to be a puppet that pleased everyone

 

except myself?

What did I have to lose?