When I was younger I didn't have the most self-positive coping mechanisms, and often reverted to self-harm. Later in life when things grow heavy, I find myself grasping for these old coping mechanisms for lack of a better idea. Though I have yet to break my sobriety (of sorts) on this vice, the thoughts haunt me. There have been countless times in the past where I have come so close to breaking, and falling back into the arms of this addiction. But thus far, I have remained strong enough to resist the blade.

This poem is about being in public while having an anxiety attack and/or, being depressed to the point where words are hard to form, movements are arduous to make, and so on. It's about dealing with these feelings but hiding them to the outside world to remain productive and seemingly "okay."

This poem is about a time when I was told about something from my past that, for lack of a better phrase, left me breathless. It was one of the hardest things I have had to hear to date.

This is based off a fight I had with someone I cherish more than anything. In the fight, as so often is the case, things were said that were not untrue by any means, but were said in a convoluted manor that brought about a lot of doubt in self and within the relationship. When the flood gates of the past opened I was caught so off guard. The other party noted that they had not lied, but withheld information. A tactic we all have used at one point or the other, one I often times find acceptable. However in this context, and within this relationship, regardless of what you call the lack of information it was like a truck to the chest. It took this image of "us" I had drafted in my mind and shattered it to oblivion. This poem is about how the words of another can echo in your mind and feel like the absolute truth, even though you know for a fact that it is not the truth.