My grandma says i've gone
insane

I'm not denying it

Everyone is cranky
Everyone is breaking
But everyone is blaming
The
Wrong
Person

Can't you see
The ticking timebomb
Wasn't her
It's
*Me

Its those small things
that cloud your vision
the most

just a few words
can ruin everything

Its those small things
that build up to big things

Its those small things
we try to ignore
until one day,
they come back
and
bite us in the ***

I have this bad habit
of digging up
old stuff
scrolling through it
and
feel each stab
grinding itself
deeper
and
deeper
into my chest

Its like I'm asking for it
but
each time I read them
I understand
new
things

Something troubles me
every time
I re-read
old and new
poems

Who exactly
is
that
*you

Have you ever felt
this sickening feeling
build up
in that space
just between your chest
and your stomach?

Its this feeling of
uneasiness
unexplainable sadness
hurt
confusion

The best way to describe it
is that sinking feeling
you get when you are on a swing
and
you get too high
and whoosh back down too fast

Its just there
I don't know why
I don't know how

I just wish it would go away
right now