Abused

I trip, spilling everywhere.  
The smashing noise of my world coming apart
Is not the smashing noise of destruction, but of my wince of fear.
My hands reflexively move to my face,
And shortly after, come away red.  
Not wounded from the shattered fragments,
But wounded from the inevitable and incoming torrential rage
Of words and limbs, all remorselessly pummeling me bloody.  
That’s just the way it is.  
Never good enough, every mistake is an end of a world,
Ironic since I myself am one giant mistake.  
That’s the doctrine hurled toward me anyways,
Spiraling words and echoes never fully leaving my mind and my earlobes
No matter how much I try to get them out of my head.  
The world may be silent but that’s when the voices are loudest.  
Sometimes, they are taunts and mockery but usually
A primal scream reminding what it is I am.  
I’m pulled up somehow.
I can push it all outwards.  
Lash out back at them, and know deep down it’s an overreacting, an exaggeration,
Everything is a punishment that doesn’t fit the crime.  
It’s not perfect nor painless, but I stood and persevered,
With a hope of escape, no, anger and hatred guiding me.

I trip spilling everywhere.  
The smashing noise of my world coming apart
Is not the smashing noise of destruction, but of my wince of fear.  
I pick up on many gentle voices asking “Are you ok?”
But I cannot hear them.
I sing out a song, endless layers volta brackets resonating
“I’m so sorry” over and over and over again.
Stares of confusion meet my gaze.  
A meaningless little accident doesn’t really matter
If I’m ok, is what they seem to think.
It’ll be at a low point for a while.  
Unable to ever learn how to properly take consequences shakes me to the core.  
I can’t deal with the mistakes, they haunt me for far, far, too long.  
I never truly did learn how to properly cope
With mistakes and the reactions and interactions of others, did I?  
When I actually do let someone down or upset them is the worst.  
There is no angry lash out at me, no flurries of rages, just silence,
And not the silence of my own hatred this time.  
Unwronged, that anger has no power to comfort me.  
Why, why can’t I just be punished, laid into, put down endlessly?  
Give me a reason, give me a reason for me to hate you
So I don’t have to deal with guilt and self-loathing.  
That would be so much fucking easier.