You’re handling it so well!
If it was me, I’d never get anything done.
I can’t breathe; I feel like I’m drowning
at 3 a.m., thoughts my lungs can’t hold.
Maybe pouring myself into my work
will give me a sense of normalcy.
“Nonchalant final boss.” “Black cat energy.”
Why do I always keep a straight face
while the tears keep flowing inside?
I wish I knew how to express myself better.
In just days’ time, I’ll be 20 in age,
and yet — and yet, I feel more like
a helpless child than I did when I was
a literal child.
Why do you never eat these days?
How can I, when my mind and body
are too busy digesting the unswallowable
thoughts of all that I carry alone?
How can I, when I carry the anger and pain
I try to take from those I love,
from people who have no choice
but to live inside a broken, unjust reality?
Crazy lore drop …
Not really, it’s the same old me,
the person I’ve always been but never
show or tell about.
How I wish someone would ask me,
“How are you?”
and stay for the real answer, not just
the surface-level pleasantries.
How I wish my friends would surprise me with
a random hug “just because,”
even though I’m the friend that
doesn’t really like hugs, physical touch, affection.
I’m too far gone. I fear if I ask for help
I would melt and lose everything.
All I had worked so hard to pack tightly into myself —
the negativity, the countless nights
spent crying to sleep, crying so hard I thought
this might just be the end.
How easy it is to lie to seem strong.
