Throughout my day,
There’s a constant buzz,
White noise and distraction,
To keep the thoughts at bay.

If self doubt is blasphemy,
Then I’m full of sin,
Thanks to the voice,
Swirling around in my head,
Repeating the word broken.

I am broken,
Unworthy of kindness,
Unworthy of love,
Unworthy of life,
A complete and total mess.

I may trick people at first,
But if they know me long enough,
My fragile mask will crack,
Just enough for them to see,
The wreck inside,
I was never that tough.

Sometimes I even fool myself,
Into believing I am whole,
That the shattered doll,
Has somehow glued its pieces back together,
That I am not broken,
That I am mended,
That I was never broken.

He picked me up in his car,
And asked me what happened,
That's always the first question,
First thing that people think to say.

They want to know why,
Tears have formed in my eyes,
And roll down my face.

They want to know where,
The pain is coming from,
So that they might stop it.

They want to know who,
I am thinking about,
When I claim to feel alone.

I'll tell you what, why, where, and who.
What happened is nothing,
It came out of nowhere.
The why is nothing,
There is no cause.

The where is nowhere,
Nowhere they can reach.
The who is no one,
At least that's what I feel like.

I know you don't believe me,
When I answer your questions.
I told you the truth,
You just don't understand depression.

Just like him,
You have that look in your eyes,
And close your mouth,
Deciding not to push it for now.

But just wait until next time,
If I give you the chance.
And you will ask again.
Not realizing your questions,
Only remind me that I am broken.

Is it a sacrifice to spend so much time thinking of you?
I have convinced myself I am honoring your memory, I suppose,
But that little person that lives in my brain,
The one that monitors my mistakes and yells at my flaws,
Keeps telling me that I am selfish.

Selfish to indulge in this sadness,
Selfish to cry when thinking of you,
Selfish to see you in my dreams,
When I could have, should have, done so much more,
When you were still alive.

I could live in those moments forever,
Like when in shock my brain suddenly lost language,
My heart ceased beating,
My lungs no longer filled with air,
Creating a temporary death to accompany my realization of your permanent one, Annalisa.

Or perhaps the moment when,
We were frantically trying to get back to your hospital room, Flora,
When we got the call that you were fading away,
Helping your husband as he struggled with his walker,
And more heartbreak than I have ever seen on one face,
All while knowing we would be too late.

Even that brief sensation of dropping,
My body falling faster than my heart,
That suddenly occupied my throat,
As I rushed to an imagined release,
Could last me a lifetime.

But the memories of your smile, laugh, and happiness,
Fade more quickly than I would have predicted,
Those moments so sweet,
They melt as quickly as cotton candy in your mouth.
And I am left only with a sour aftertaste,
Cruel, lingering memories here to haunt me forever.

I feel the weight,
of my existence the most,
At night.

With the lights turned off,
And nothing to distract me,
From my thoughts,
My body feels like an anchor,
Keeping me on earth,
Tethered to reality.

Not anywhere close,
To the distant stars and moon,
That entice me so.

I want to run until,
I disappear into the wind,
And I want to not move at all,
Holding my breath until,
my stillness allows me to fade away.

You say you want to be,
more,
than friends.

But when I reject your advances,
and you want nothing to do with me.
I know the truth.
You don't want,
more.

If you did,
you would be happy to have a little,
less,
of me in your life.
You would not villainize me,
pouting like a toddler,
who was told they couldn't have candy.
Friends may not be everything you dreamed of,
but it should mean something.

You really think,
less,
of me than you do your friends.

This poem mentions self-harm. If this upsets you please don't read it


I used to want people to look at me,
And know that I was sick.
I envied those with physical illness,
As opposed to mental.

I romanticized their struggle,
And their experiences.
I felt hurt that I was treated,
As though it was all in my head.

That was until I engraved,
Markings upon my skin.
Now everyday I see,
The memory of,
A darkness I,
Nearly lost,
Myself,
In.