It's turmoil really.
This idea that I'm stuck inside myself.
That me. Myself. I.
Am not adored.
Am not liked.
Am not understood.

My words spill through my lips
an uncontrollable torrent
and with them accidental turns
where limits are pressed, phrasing hurts.
With clumsy hands that I know too well
I try and stop the flow
but instead more comes.
A loud constant. One who just

I'm apologising as the water gushes.
As though the ability to inhibit has been lost to me.
And suddenly I'm aware that perhaps this is more
than simply my personality.
Like the spoonful of chocolate just consumed
Or the purchases of things I don't need.

Perhaps I am not quite like the others
My challenges are more than my inadequacies.
Maybe it's really just nothing.
Maybe it's everything.
But asking the question means receiving an answer that I am
as of yet
unsure I am ready to receive.

Am I just another girl who sees herself in Instagram videos
and self-diagnoses?
Or have my eyes been opened.
Or am I just flawed.