Abecedarian Of A Voice Poem by Isabella Buttacy

A shrill voice pierces through my
Broken mind; I
Can hear it: it tells me I
Don't deserve peace, and
Even though they're nice,
Friends won't stay for long; I'm not
Good enough; I don't get to
Have a life where
I can feel
Joy and serenity and
Kindness; no one will ever
Love me for being myself --
No.
One.
'Protect yourself from harm, ' the voice
Quietly whispers while I'm in
Remission from my
Spiral into
The sorrow and noise.
Usually, after a bout like such, I
Veer away from anyone who could -- and
Would -- harm me;
Xenophobia seems to take me -- everyone is familiar
Yet foreign;
Zealously, I isolate myself, but hate it.