Here's a thought
I'd like to know
If you could feel suicidal
Without being depressed
Does that make sense?
Does making sense even matter
If that's how it feels?

I know I'm happy
And I know it's real
I'm surrounded by the people I love
And I've found love in the things I do

But I see a bridge
And the only thing I can think of
Is jump
I look at cars on the busy streets
From the passenger seat
And think
Maybe today
One of them will just so happen
To hit me, maybe
Maybe
Hopefully

Smiling is genuine
I don't fake faces, it's just not me
Yet in the safety of my home
I'm not safe in my own head

I don't know how
To ask for help
They'll say I'm fine
And I am fine
But I'm not
And I know it

Help.
Please.

and i am hoping that i cross your mind
often enough for you to pick your phone up
and text me, *'hi, what's up?'

I am told to believe in myself
look past the flaws
imperfections,
because all those things
define the uniqueness
within my body,
my soul
but what I see
when I take that
prolonged, aching glance
into a mirror
as cloudless as a
summer evening
is everything
I am told doesn’t matter
but
how do I ignore veins
crawling up my legs like
the spiders they're named after
or
fat under my skin
that seems to expand so widely
it is impossible for my
eyes not to trip upon it
and
wide hips
unfocused gaze
gaping pores
unshaped lips
rippling marks
etched on my skin
as a form of punishment
for being myself
sloping thighs
feet like
the twin towers
giant
tall
wide
deep
is that what I am?
uncertain
unknown
unloved
but in the end just
“unique”?
human
we’re all just human
but then
why
do I feel
so
mis
understood?