I Cry

I cry. I cry everyday. I cry because I'm torn apart. I cry because my brokenness is clear as day, yet they trample over the mess they call me, never bothering to pick up the broken pieces of me that are scattered everywhere because many choose to ignore, while some pretend that I am not even around, that I am non-existent. But I am just alive as they are, can't they see? I eat, I sleep, I move, I talk, I breath. Suffocating in my own mess, tripping over these broken pieces, the soles of my feet always dripping crimson, barely able to take a step forward because I hurt myself every second I try to get up. This is my normal. This is my reality. I am fragile, I am broken, and I do not know who I am anymore. I stare at my reflection, and all I see are cracked pieces of a masterpiece that was once whole. I cannot see myself anymore. He told me I am like her; she told me I am like him. But they do not understand, I do not want to be like anyone. I do not want to be compared, because I am unique. But is that why I am not accepted? Is that why I wake up smiling and lie down crying? Is that why I dive in breathing and surface suffocating? Is that why the clouds are white one day and black the next? Is that why the sun disappears once darkness creeps in? Within me I feel an immense war raging. Demons and angels tear me limb from limb, bones shattering, circulation ceasing, vision diminishing, heartbeat stopping. Body cold as ice, limp and motionless as time stops for what seems like an eternity. I struggle constantly. I am evil, I am good, and I can't stop crying. I cry, I cry, I cry. What am I doing? What are they saying? Who Am I? I am good for her. I am bad for him. I am not up to standard. I am too strong. I am too weak. I am perfect. I am clumsy. I am plain. I am pretty.  I am fat. I am short. I am thin. I am not cut out for it. But I do not want to be any of That. I just want to be Me. Can't they just accept me for who I am?

 -Renee Nuina Manus