I’m alone, that I can not change, but I can for my tone.
I’m hopeless, I’m stupid, I’m a pitiful being, whom is so tired of weeping.

Night, after night, tears streaming down ones face, always ending up in a similar place.
The pillow.

I do not wish to drown in my own sorrow, my own broken tears and shattered dreams and the burning wishful thinking.
I do not want to be that child, that girl you say is too young to love, too young to feel any emotion, but what I feel is real and what you’re doing to me feels like you’re trying to choke me.

You’re strangling me with your words, though you think that you’re being nice, or not too harsh at all, it felt like I had just been punched in the face. A dull, numbing sensation of the after taste, from a fist once in the air, then crushing me down with despair.

I do not wish to be weak, I do not wish to feel in pain, and I do not wish to feel lonely.

That is my greatest enemy, the crippling anxiety that stomps down on my fear, my nightmare, my little trouble that I resent.
I have to go through this because I am unable to leave your grasp just yet, but once I do I’ll be free, and maybe, just maybe.

I’ll be okay.