why aren’t the pills
in the cabinet
working for me yet?
i disassociate from myself
and climb into bed
with strangers
i’ve never met
tricking myself into
believing
that i’m living
another persons life
so it’s simply ok
to be this ****** up
today
but even tears at night
cover still
the string lights
in my room
and the way i feel
keeping my eyes damp
until morning time
maybe my teenage brain
can crack the code
of my lack of sleep
and thoughts unknown
hating myself
from all the pain
and learning to love
over again
the tender touch
of my own mother’s hug
or the warmth
of the coffee mug
pressed against my lips
at nine a.m.
i find myself
through it all
the bigger things in life
and things so small
revisioning
and remembering
the smell
of a friday morning
reminding myself
of the comfort you gave
jumping in and out
of scenes
throughout each day i wake
where the script becomes mine
to create and intertwine
in my brain
manipulating the narrative
but never talk about the story
whilst gently taking care of it
it’s my own way to move on
and reward myself
for breaking hearts
to straight up losing mine
remaining sane
in foreign situations
to constant explanations
to those who never listen
the pills never work for me
or my current intuition
and that’s ok