All my life there’s one thing that stuck,
the concept of making myself small.
When I was little it was a defense against the
a way to blend into the wall.

All I wanted was to be small,
I would tense and shift,
compressing myself,
cutting away the parts of me that didn’t fit.

Small enough not to pull attention,
small enough not to disrupt,
small enough not to be a bother,
but it seemed small was just never enough.

Now that I am older I thought that it had
but I realized that I had just shifted.
It defends me from me instead of the world,
and it seems that to this I am addicted.

The theory is still the same,
if I make myself small enough,
maybe it won’t matter,
but there’s always just too much.

I wan to curl into a ball,
I’ll stay awake til’ dawn.
Fold into myself,
til’ all of me is gone.

I want to hide in my own sin,
tear away the unwanted parts.
Break all of my bones,
drown myself in my own blood.

So when I don’t know what else to do,
I retreat back to my old defense.
I try to make myself small,
so I fold and curl and tense.

If you ever see me curled up now,
please don’t worry or dread,
it’s simply me trying to cope,
with the voices in my head…

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