Insecurities (I think this is done) in Banquet Room Posted November 28, 2015 · Report reply I have fallen in love with my own broken heart, I hoard my hurts, all pot shards and broken glass, Closer than my own skin. I know it's not you that makes me feel disposable, discarded, unwanted, unloved, Not pretty enough, not thin enough, not smart enough, NEVER ENOUGH.... It is rather the sharpened claws of my own self image. They puncture me, and leave holes that bleed perspective, Respawning habits of thought that that fit like Your favorite old jeans. I hate them, with a strengthening hate. They stick to me in hot taffy strings I try to pluck off with unbuttered hands, more tangled with each fumbling effort. Faceless, faithless lovers, they are all that I reject They are in my head, in my bed, filling the air with the warm musky scent of my own bad decisions. I can almost see them sometimes, those fears and insecurities, bursting from me like I am Pandora's box, swarming me like angry wasps. Then I'm a dwelling, a hive of utter bullshit, I can hear the buzzing of all that useless baggage, Seething with every never and always I've ever thought. I'm tired of swimming in wet concrete, Trying to breathe underwater, Frustrated, exhausted. I try to walk on fractured limbs Splintered bones grind through my flesh, but I will get there. Just you watch. I will be free, someday. The holes left Spackled shut, some paved over, Some filled in with loam and growing new life. Right now they torment me, but I see the future, And I will win this battle, have already won, It just remains to stamp them out. I put my insecurities in the killing jar, pluck off their wings Watch them squirm their innards out and I'll do it every day til they are gone.