If there’s one
thing that I
crave more
than to be
happy, it’s

                                   death
I don’t want
to end things
by my own
hand, but it

                                   would
not be terrible
for it to happen,
whatever the
method may

                                    be
I feel like an
easy and
quick death
would be

                                    preferable to
pain and
endless hurt
and struggles.
All I have now
with this “gift” of

                                     living
is endless and
painful torment
that usually
only belongs in

                                     hell.

One of my
absolute least
favorite topics
of conversation
is that of the

                                future.
Mine has
already been
tarnished with
my failures,
already been

                               stained
by my terrible
shortcomings:
my lack of
focus, and my
problems

                                with
anxiety and
depression have
not helped
anything but
my level of

                                 incompetence

Anxiety has done
a lot of damage to

                                           my
psyche, and I
try to hold your

                                           hands
and your heart
in mine, but mine

                                           shake.
I can’t stop doubting,
whether I am enough, if
                   my
offerings of love will
be enough. I want your

                                           faith
to be safe in my hands,
but there’s a lot of fear
                    
                                    ­        in
my heart that I will
never truly be enough for

                                             you
but you insist that I’m
amazing and that you

                                             won’t
ever leave me alone
in my troubles, and
I want to believe you.

Of all the things
I thought that
I knew about
you, the one

                                   I don’t
understand still
is why you chose
to take an exit
from the world
that doesn’t

                                   know
your presence
anymore. For
a time, I was able
to have

                                   you,
to love you and
to kiss you. But
since you left,
I don’t get to
have you around

                                   anymore,
and I don’t know
for sure if I ever
really understood
your pain even
though I thought
that I could have.

Today we went
dress shopping,
which should be
a sure mark of

                                    girlhood
to me, but I’m
not in any way
feminine in dress.
My mind constantly

                                   breaks
gender norms
and traditional
roles. I want
nothing more for

                                   my
body than for it
to change to
a boy’s, a man’s
body to match my

                                   spirit.

Anxiety and
depression,
which both
belong to me,
force me to
always be

                                  fighting
for a desire to
live. Both can
be fixed, or
improved, but
I don’t know how

                                  to
do that without
using meds or
therapy. Maybe
I’ll end up having to

                                  live
in a psych ward.
I’d accept that, I
have even once
or twice been

                                  tempted
to check myself
into one. I don’t
know how to do
that, or what

                                  to
expect when I
do, I just know
that I’m not
ready yet to

                                  die.

At the top
of my long
list of problems
remains my

                                  anxiety
It does things
to my head, my
hands, and my
heart, and it

                                  makes
life hard to
battle through,
making days
mountains for

                                  me
to climb, when
for everyone else
they are only
stairs. It’s kinda

                                  sick,
the type of hold
it has on me.
But I have no way
to get away.