HarrietEve

I sit in my bed,
Surrounded by weeping papers,
Couldn’t it be an eight or
Couldn’t it be a nine or couldn’t I?
Just. 
Be.
Better. 

My mind is jammed by criticism,
My vision blinded and obscured by the smothering feeling of failure. 
My anxiety suffocates me.

But I behave.
So I will never get the help that I deserve until my bottle of emotion shatters into nine hundred and ninety nine thousand shambles of emergency. 

Until tomorrow.

Where they have more important children to worry about.

More important children.