I’ve been sad so long I’m afraid of what it means
When the world isn’t weighing down on me
Don’t know what to carry when it’s not heavy.
I’m skeptical when I’m happy,
Unsure of my identity when it’s easy,
Feel suspicious when I’m breathing freely.
Who am I when the sea isn’t tumultuous?
Lost when times are prosperous?
What do I do when I can’t trust this?
I’m uncomfortable with the blank spaces empty of mental illness.
Who am I when there’s no battle to be faced?
I feel hollow and out of place
Like I am made of clay that hasn’t quite taken shape.
I want to be someone when there’s no foe to vanquish
Have a meaning beyond my aguish.
I know there’s more to me than sickness,
But I feel no strength without my weakness.
How do I become the person I am meant to be?
How do I find myself when I am happy?