the feeling that what i did was right
telling someone else
i am not equipped for the pressure of keeping another person alive
i can barely find it in myself to stay alive
i need to sleep
i don't want to be awake anymore
the feeling of being useless is killing me
i need to be heard so that i know you are listening
im sorry that these things went down in this way
but i am not sorry for the decisions that i made
to get help
for you
when i am not good enough to help you myself

i try to write on my own
without having someone it read
but it is very hard to keep everything to yourself
they say to let it out in a journal
but where does it go from there
it stays in your back pocket
or in your backpack

i write for myself
but for people to read
and to see

theres a phrase
**** hit the fan
i wonder who is throwing the **** up
there has to be a reason that the **** ended up on the ceiling
it didnt just happen
playing with fire will get you burned, but who cares about the scars as long as they are covered.
why are you throwing the ****?
i cant understand.

when someone is sick, their body gets feverish, their body tries to purge the sickness from them, forcing it out until they get better, or die
my body is fighting an infection inside my brain. there is no fever no chills, no shaking. the only way to see the infection is to wait
wait until it gets so bad that it starts showing up on your body
in the form of red lines or dark bruises, there is no beating this infection. it is in every atom of my being, i have to learn to live with it
or die from it.
and sometimes my body just gets too weak to keep fighting
i think that it is the end, that there will be no more sickness. but i claw my way back up, to just above the surface, breathing in the air, and making sure that i am still fighting. i am still alive.

to the woman who scowled at me when i was working
it made me sad, scared, afraid
i thought i was doing something wrong
your rudeness cut to my core
and you dont even care
today was a bad day for you, so why **** on mine?
maybe i shouldnt be so delicate
so willing to get hurt
maybe i should just close everybody off
spiral back down into that dark grey
get stuck in the mud
push everybody away
go home
be alone
again

these words that we are writing
spewing out into a hungry void
looking for the best lighting
to showcase our masks
show how not broken we are
how free that we can be
how we are not weighed down by tar
stuck to our feet
when we try to get free
we scream to be heard
but need to see
that we
are free

my head is wired a little different
the need to not be scowled at
not be ignored
to allow work to be just work
and not an escape
not something to bring relief
when you cant hold still
when you cant move
and you just beg for forgiveness