If this girl is an island

 I thought I held all of the answers, within my closed fist. This time. But I feel so far away from myself. Drifting for so much time. Unsure of how to anchor myself. 

How can it be? How can I be here again, drenched in guilt and remorse. For not being content. With what I thought I wanted. Is that even true? I languish in dishonesty, for who I really am. For what I really need. 

What I want. I’ve hidden beneath so many layers of otherness I worry how this world I’ve created will collapse,

If I try and clamber out. Returning to the surface.

And back to myself. 

I cannot help, but try and make myself acceptable.

But in the very act of doing so, I begin to disintegrate. 

I cannot keep this up.

Slowly slowly, unbecoming the woman I fought so hard to keep alive. To protect. 

She is an island and I can’t let her be found. Because I’m afraid that nobody wants her but me.