Weird.

can't i just make it beautiful?

can't i just show it just so....
that you'll do what i want you to?
ha!
there comes that control again-
a sneaky little thing
like a weed-
sprouts quietly,
and then chokes everything.

sometimes
i can't tell
the best from the worst of me.

and i feel like a child
who needs a hand to hold,
like i'm standing in front
of a funhouse mirror
bearing my soul-

sore and twisted around
looking back on myself
with compassionless eyes
and a sour mouth,
aching and bruised
though i can't tell
if they're new
or still bleeding
internally
from
days long past.

-sigh-
it's weird to be back.