Can’t

I can’t create safety for other people.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t reach out and ask for support.

I can’t stop thinking that the only way I will stop being bad is to die.

I can’t stop thinking about all the all the all the all the all the fuck ups. I deserve what I get.

I can’t stop being a monster.

I can’t be worthy.

I can’t be good.

I can’t stop crying.

I can’t be on a different path; this is the one in front of me.

I can’t be quiet enough with my crying to be allowed in the bedroom and that’s hard.

I can’t stop thinking that she will hate me now too. Another one bites the dust. I deserve it.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

I can’t stop thinking about my mama, about mothers, about how does any mother ever figure out what “good enough” means.

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