Damaged Goods

I am damaged goods.
I am forever broken.
I am beyond repair.
That is my excuse.

I have not known innocence.
My parents were self-absorbed.
They were strangers,
they ignored me.

I grew up alone, a defiant adolescent.
Rejection, neglect, and disdain were normal.
I sought comfort from
strangers,
substances,
selfish desires.
I learned to disguise my pain with laughter.
I learned my self-respect was shattered.

I have not known distress.
My silence melts it away.
I have success,
portraying strength.
Yet I am weak, a fragile creature.

Reckless, callous, and hardened I’ve become.
I seek comfort from
my affliction,
my anger,
my aching.
I learned to hurt the people who love me.
I learned to embrace the ghosts that haunt me.

I have not known affection.
My camouflage hides my shame.
Yet I have friends,
they’re my addictions.
They understand me, they sympathize.
Shelters, harbors, and temples they’ve become.

I seek comfort from
cravings,
compulsions,
coercions.
I learned to keep my walls well guarded.
I learned to accept this fate disheartened.

That is my excuse.
I am beyond repair.
I am forever broken.
I am damaged goods.

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