Outrun (By The World)

You never meant to walk me this far, but you did. And I dropped here, like a weight of led. Your advice is shallow, and unbed. You're supposed to be there, like a rock, like a cliff, when everyone else fails. But you aren't.
I wanted to say I felt outrun by the world. That I could feel how every step we took, how every breath we inhaled, took us closer to death. How the paranoia rung my mind and stung my thoughts, rendering me unable to move. Unable to feel. I wanted to say that while everything I know of life is standing still, my heart is pounding so fast that it wants to jump out through my throat, because I'm racing towards the end of life.
You said that I am filled with self-pity. You wondered if I was going to tell you any more of horrifically terrible things that had happened to me. You don't see. You don't understand. I don't ask of you to be like me, although you ask of me to be like you. I only ask that for once you see through my eyes, or simply close your own, and not judge me.
Is it strange, really, that I seek out friends that feel, to me, like my real family? Is it in any way surprising? When all you do is mock my secrets, tell them to the world and shake your head at the insight that I turned out to be your daughter.
I'm sorry I'm not what you expected. I'm sorry I don't live in a big house that you can help me fix or that I don't know what to do with a needle and a thread. I'm sorry I don't want children, that I think my lively cats are enough. I'm sorry, sorry that I take to writing, that I stay up to 3AM every night, that I skip meals, that I oversleep, that I drink, that I'm on pills, that I'm full of anxiety, that I have to see a therapist to try and rid me of voices in my head.
But really. You are no wiser than me. You may have seen more in your life, but you haven't seen what I have seen. And you've never been me, right now, right this moment. You don't know me. You don't know my head or my heart. Stop trying to understand me without meaning it. Just take me in for once with open arms and with an open mind.
Stop your stupid tip toeing around the subject, let me finish off, and don't judge me.
But who am I kidding? Why would you ever change a winning concept?
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me.
POET IN THE JAR