I am the wrong kind of "sad"
Or, rather, I am NOT sad
I don't think I've ever BEEN sad, the word "SAD" is hardly in my vocabulary at all
It's not loud enough
My words are made up of screams, but my voice is not commanding
I have far too much to say but I can't phrase it in a way that makes you want to listen
I can talk all I want about car crashes and crescendos but it will go in one ear like a tantrum and go out the other like a suicide note I've rewritten twenty times to not sound like too much of a burden
I have the kind of voice that makes everyone else in the room stop talking
Not because they are interested in what I have to say but because "*******, does this kid ever shut up?"
I have the kind of voice that confuses you
Telling you how venom burns in my veins and I can't stop looking over my shoulder like I'm telling you about my favorite movie
No matter how hard I try I've never gotten the hang of expression
I'm the wrong kind of "sad"
I have to get the words out of me, bleed myself dry before I can sleep and all you will receive are stains that I will cry when you can't read
Creating more stains
I don't know how to organize my thoughts
It's so loud in here I can't think, except for when it's silent
And then I can't think anyway

All I want is to be able to tell a story
But every time I try I cry at the happy parts and grin through the tragedies and the meaning gets lost
I constantly try to tell you what I am and how this feels but the English language is so full of ******* words like SAD
I am not SAD
Some days the weight in my chest develops its own force of gravity and everything around me is ****** in and my chest feels like it's about to burst
Sometimes you say the wrong thing or nothing and I have to hold my breath and think about anything other than the sickness that settles into my stomach
My sadness doesn't translate well for an audience
I don't have any good stories
I've never been arrested or gone streaking or done much of anything that involves leaving my bedroom
I tell myself that I am a creative but I'm just making this up as I go along hoping to stumble across a point because I feel worthless again
I must be alive, I guess
Pain does not make someone an artist
Pain makes you crumble and sometimes some people are just really good sculptors but I have a tremor and I think I'd probably just cut myself open on the tools
Again I tell myself I'll write something worth reading
Again I lose the point and get dizzy from bleeding