They say it’s all in your head,
They say you’re making it up,
They say nothing is actually wrong,
They say your life could be worse
They say you’ll grow out of it,
They say it’s just doctors trying to make money,
They say all it is is you’re sad.
They say it’s all in my head… maybe it is, maybe it was.
but now it’s slowly spilling out onto my wrists.

I don’t think it’s just in my head anymore.

We built
a tower
with hands
that did not know
how to touch.

It rose,
stone by stone.
Each word was a brick.
Each silence,
the mortar.
Promises—
now vanished in the air.

We stood
at the bottom,
blaming the height
for our aches—
but the tower
was never
what broke us.