When They Ask Who Hurt You And The Answer Is, 'Me'

When They Ask Who Hurt You And The Answer Is, ‘Me’

Someone once asked me

Bright eyes full of concern

“Who hurt you?”

I only wish I could have told them, that would be the kind of pain I long for

I have dealt in the currency of broken hearts ever since I realized I had one

That is the pain I know how to break with, how to mourn, how to survive

The one I cannot escape is the hurt I unleash on myself

In the quietest hours of the night, the anger, the shame, the hatred that has no end

It’s the screaming that I can’t quite get to quieten down

The cuts that leave no visible marks

It’s the harsh eyes that find nothing worth looking at

It’s an ocean of insecurities that I willingly deep dive into

A part at me forever at war with the rest

It’s the endless wondering and wishing I could be better

Who hurt me?

Oh I did, and I don’t know how to stop. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

About the author

Cats and literature are my best friends.

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