I am the type of person,
To bleed through ink,
Swiping both hands from side to side,
Smudging my feelings into white page,
Touching the chunky blots to feel,
My tangled thoughts,
In their entirety.

I want be alive.
I want to bear the weight,
Of a thousand emotions on my rough shoulders,
And if that isn’t enough,
I don’t know what I will do,
Anything—
Anything to feel like I’m not dead.

I am here,
I am alive.

This is what existing feels like.