by Courtney Taylor

3:00 a.m.

I’m sorry if my skin was never thick enough for you, I’m sorry if your anger came because you didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry if my face, something you saw as a gift at one time, seemed well suited for the edges of your tongue.

I’m sorry if my body was only worthy when writhing under you. Only worthy of your judgmental glare; of your unapprovingly stare.

I’m sorry that my mind was too tangled for you to make sense of. I’m sorry you wasted time picking at the strands of my brain until your hands were so intertwined a twitch could send me reeling.

I’m sorry the vision you had of what I could be is so much better than what I am now. I’m sorry all I could do was try my best. I’m sorry apologies spilt from my mouth faster than praise ever did from yours.

I’m sorry that at this point all I’m trying to do is move on from the wreckage left in me. To rise from the burning rubble that I’ve never seemed to be able to get rid of…that I’ve been living in.

I’m sorry that I’m failing at trying not to be sorry anymore.

 

7:50 a.m.

Sometimes I wonder if I was born the wrong way (empty(desolate)).

My mother struggling for a new child and out I came a confusion to them all. I wonder if my mother knew what I was supposed to become.

If I was supposed to continue on these broken pillars. If I was supposed to survive on these empty organs. I had often imagined my mother trying so hard to breathe life into a child that didn’t have the capacity to hold it.

How did it feel to watch your daughter crumple before you? Whenever I feel sad I think of my parents. How the genes they gave me fit so snuggly it feels as though the bones in my hips may crack.

It’s funny how with so much contempt I have for my own existence one would’ve thought I’d ended it by now. Discontinued like an undesirable product. Left to lay like a forgotten dream. Dreaming to forget memories of an existence not worth experiencing.

How should I feel knowing I feel nothing?