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Overwhelm to the point of numbness, I falter, left half present in public. Waiting to crumble in the peace of 'home'. And if home, real home, is where the heart is then I wouldn't know where to look. Left in London maybe, or held back up North. I'm stuck between two poles, waiting again to crumble, crumble and fold.
Breathing is hard when phantom hands weave weight within your chest, pulling you down to depths so low you'll never feel at rest. Your eyes may shut and thoughts may drift but one fact remains the same, you've never lived a day post-youth that hasn't brought you shame. You try and try to run away, break the cycle, save the day. Working hard to eat away at all the debt you must re-pay. But in the end you cannot mend the damage in your head, a broken record reminding you you'd still be better off dead.
Hannah Douglas Nov 2020
I don't know how to describe this sensation,
it's kinda like being a small fish in a big pond
or some other overused cliché.
      When I walk in the world I see the buildings, the trees,
the people... and I just sorta think,
            "wow. I'm so small."
      And I'm right, I am small...
I'm small right now and I'm scared.
Despite being small though, I'm gonna stand.
Stand tall on my tippy toes.

And pretend I actually matter.
I read these other and think "oh my god, why did I write that" but at the end of the day idc lol
Hannah Douglas Sep 2020
I feel a chill in my spine that clings to my skin, embracing me from behind and whispering into my ear. "It's all pointless, really". The soft mumbles that echo in my head make me wonder what would happen.

What would happen if I stepped in front of the oncoming car?

What would happen if  I no longer exhausted myself day in and day out for nothing more than a B+?

What would happen if I could go back to being a blank nothing?

As I am writing this, tender tears are falling gently down my swollen face, cupping my cheeks and embracing me with such close contact.

It's such a cold warmth that surrounds me.
I don't want to go to school for seven hours a day only to return and study for four. I can't take it anymore, it's too much and I've barely even started.
Hannah Douglas Jun 2020
I started writing this poem in 2019,
I never published it though. Obviously.
I want to know what went wrong along the way
and why my friends couldn't stay
and why I have to pay
for a ****** today.
Hannah Douglas Jun 2020
Try
I'm not sure why I am even trying anymore.
I'm not sure if I was ever trying at all.
But if I was never trying... why has it been
so ******* hard.
Hannah Douglas May 2020
Crack. Thwack. Crumble.
Each speck of dust just drops
and drops and drops.
Floating above the craters that were
cracked, thwacked, and crumbled
deep into the Earth. My Earth.
Our Earth. What Earth?

What's left?
Grammarly says this poem is informative.
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