Rachel

17

What’s It Like?

What’s it like?
Outside the glass that I’m trapped in.
Free from the strings that hold me captive.
Breathing something besides poison smoke
that corrupts every thought,
wilting and killing the roses of my mind.
Please tell me what it’s like.
Because I don’t know.

I have been trapped in this glass,
held by these strings,
for so long
I don’t remember what it’s like to be free.

I thought I was free, but then
the strings pulled me back,
hooking me into place,
yanking at my heart.
So I can’t break free.

People tap on the glass,
try to help, but I don’t see angels.
I see angels,
I see demons.
Demons who tell me to destroy myself,
who tell me that I am worthless,
disgusting,
pathetic.
Who order me to
starve
cut
purge.

Anything to be worthy
of love
of affection
of beauty.

My reflection in the glass is warped.
I think.
I can’t tell anymore,
what’s real and what’s an illusion.
But my false angels call to me,
the blade,
the pills.
The devil scale taunts me,
says I’ll never be good enough.

And he’s right.

I’ll never be good enough,
not by his standards,
so why don’t I focus on my standards?
The ones I had before,
before I was strung up,
before I was trapped.
The standards that were great because they weren’t there.
The one rule to be happy.
Before scales mattered,
before numbers were my bible,
the blade my cross.
I remember that rule,
I remember those standards,
I remember happiness.

The long-smothered flame of my soul
begins burning.
Fighting through the thick poisonous smoke
of insecurity and pain,
fighting for what I know,
what I’ve always known,
to be the perfect way to live.

The strings that bind me tighten,
knowing that I’m starting to fight back,
determined to keep me in the dark.
The flame of my soul burns brighter,
clinging to the long-lost memory
of happiness,
of peace,
of loving myself.
I remember that time.

And I want it back.

My soul erupts in flames,
the strings burn,
the glass breaks,

and I am free.

I land outside the glass
and I laugh.
Because I’m bathed in light,
the bright light of love,
and I see that the demons who were taunting me
are angels after all,
angels who wish to help me.

I don’t love myself,
not yet,
but I want to try.
I want to learn
how to live outside the glass,
without strings,
how to accept help,
how to love myself,

and how to live.