A Brown Paper Package, Tied Up With String (You're My Favourite Thing)
I know the place you're in well -
Too well, in fact,
To offer sound advice.
But I will try anyway,
To hand you the needle and thread you need
To sew yourself back together.
People liken this feeling to an emptiness,
An absence of emotion or thought,
But that is so far from
This feeling is a fullness, a crowd
Inside your head – a thousand voices
That just won't shut up.
And they tell you, they scream at you
That everyone else around you
Has it all figured out,
And you don't.
And how stupid it is that you don't.
How fucking stupid it is.
It is a feeling like no other.
It is the desire to tear your body apart,
Ravage your own mind in a desperate search for something –
For anything that even faintly resembles
A spark of originality.
And you comb through your psyche,
Day after day,
Searching for this piece of you –
This piece that you can hold up to the world
And say: 'Hey, this is me – this is the part of me
That none of you have. This is the part of me
That makes me special'.
But you can't find it.
Of course you can't.
Our own consciences are very good at hiding themselves,
And they are very good
At accommodating demons.
But I can see that piece
In every single fucking one of you.
And sometimes I want to close my fingers around your hearts,
Scratch my fingernails through your insides
And claw it out.
And because you can't do it yourself,
I will clean it, and polish it, and I will wrap
It in brown paper and tie it with string.
I will not hold it up to the rest of the world
And proclaim to them what it is,
And who it belongs to.
Because I don't give a shit about the rest of the world.
Neither should you.
Instead I'm going to slip that wrapped up piece in your bag
When you are not looking.
And later you will find it, and unwrap it,
And realise that you have been carrying around this part of you –
This amazing, iridescent and original part of you –
For all this time.
But you spent so long searching for it,
Combing through your psyche,
That you destroyed it,
And ravaged it,
Beyond all recognition.
But here it is, all brand new again,
And you can do with it what you will –
Anything you want,
Anything you desire.