There are days when it seems the world feels smaller,
Maybe, I'm being overly self-conscious.
Probably.
Today, I have to pack my ****.
I'm moving back home,
I'm not ready to be alone.
Yet, here I sit.
At the same spot I wrote "All children make mistakes"
This will either be a "part two" maybe just another "Untitled"
I'm throwing back two shots of whisky
And putting the empty bottle in my pocket.
I know I'm a good poet,
I know at some point I've written something someone could relate to.
Maybe even saved a life.
I'll never know,
I don't think I want to.
Growing up I always wanted to be like the people who saved me,
Develope some ability to stop someone from...
Well, let's face it. I'm scared of the word.
It's like it has the ability to turn from letters into a rope slipping up my leg,
A snake in the grass
And tie itself around my neck and lead me like cattle.
I'm strong
I'm strong
I'm...
I'm just a ****** up kid
in a twenty year old's body.
Ive realized that the pressure that comes with saving a life is overwhelming,
Too much for little 'ole me.
"I'm not like the rest."
I am.
I know I am.
My depression is bad.
Real bad.
I'm scared it'll rip you away like a scab,
You'll tear the scar tissue and be freed
While I'm left with a hole, bleeding.
My now ex-roommates
keep asking me if I'm okay.
Nah, I'm not.
I'm so lost.
Happy with things, honestly.
It all kinda worked out.
I'm just lost.
And I wanted to talk to you about it on our walk.
But, you wanted to be with your friends.
It's okay though. I'll just pack my **** in a bit and when you ask if I'm okay,
I'll pretend I didn't write this.
Not to spite you,
But because I'll have pushed it into the box of negativity that everyone calls a heart.
Well, metaphorically.