a glass sits
on the subspace of my mind
it’s half empty

i ask myself

why is it half empty,
why not half full

why is is so hard to see the water
sloshing about in the glass

clear
cool
refreshing

why do i only see the empty space where water should be

a Void to avoid talking about
a part of myself that i keep refusing to share
a part that i seem to allow to grow, yet i wish it would leave me the hell alone

do I actually enjoy this melancholy

do I like these compressed and silent tears rolling down my cheeks in the darkness

do i make things up to be sad about

a question

is my glass even half empty at all

or do i have a glass full to the brim while i persist in pursuing these gray thoughts

are my “problems” even real
or imaginary

like

my

glass

I don't think it's you

I used to think you were a mad bull in the china  cabinet of my life
Raging
Smashing
While I sat frozen on the floor watching the pieces of my life fall around me
But now I realize that
You never meant to hurt me
You didn't try to hurt me
You are not an angry bull
It's not you that is breaking everything
It's me
I am as unstable
as a drunk rhinoceros walking a tightrope, I sway
Trying to stay sane, functional
Terrified of falling into insanity
Overthinking brain drawing emotions into everything
My own darkness pressing into me
I curl tightly into a ball
Trying to hold my pieces together
Writing poetry
Thinking that you were the problem
When the problem
All along
Was
Me