they asked...
"why do you write most when you're sad?"

it took me awhile to think.
but didn't answer.

I just started writing
then realized,
because no one will understand
if I tell them they would laugh

if i tell them of what I really feel,
the dreams and hopes, or of what person I've always wanted to be

they wouldn't understand
some would think it's nonsense and some will try to listen but it won't any make sense

because we are all in our own.

everyone are busy saving their own lives

and happy poems?

it's hard for me to take time and jot the fleeting feelings of how the flowers bloom in spring and how summer gives me the time to contemplate on an infinite waves

I just want to feel the moment, for myself.

Then I would feel better.

just like writing sad poems,

it would make me feel better.

triggered
you laugh as you say the word. this is all a joke to you
of course, there’s no harm to your fun
triggers are just excuses
of course

triggered
my trauma has become a prison
I cannot walk down the street without remembering
the things he did
my hands are always shaking
my eyes are always watering

triggered
you tell me to pull myself together
it was just a joke, no big deal
but believe me, I’m trying
I have been trying for years
holding yourself together is not nearly as easy as it sounds

triggered
my skin is quicksand
the more I struggle, the tighter it becomes
it is crawling with spiders and cockroaches
I am overflowing
my body is too small to hold so much worry

triggered
I do not need your approval to know that my panic is real
but
if you tell me I do not belong in your universe
with all the people who can laugh and play and trust each other
with the people who hear the word *triggered and laugh
chances are, I will believe you

The thoughts within my head sloshed around my brain like the alcohol in my stomach.
I was cold and tired and with a dizzy mind the only thing I craved was to be in your arms.

I called out your name, to no avail, on the street right in front of your house. the lights were off
so I called your phone and the dial tone seemed to say sorry for the inconvenience, get some sleep you drunk girl.

So I walked alone and cold back to my small room. i put on the shirt that smelled like you,
climbed into bed and reached my arms out into the void that used to contain your warmth.

I had a dream you called that night, only to wake and find it wasn't a dream. i was mad at myself for thinking of it as such. Mad at myself for not answering, not paying enough attention, for turning my phone on silent.

In the morning the thoughts within my head had exited along with the alcohol, and my mind belonged to me again, not you. The only thing I craved was a good bagel, and to be rid of you.