I’ve accepted:

none of my fantasies

were ever well planned to come true.

To tear someone apart.

To make you sick

knowing that there’s nothing you can do.

I used to create worlds from door creaks,

Watch dust grains dance in front of the curtains.

I searched for my kindergarten teacher’s perfume

in every moment,

tried to see everyone’s soul.

But I never got the birthday cake I wanted

Who cares how I cried last night

how i typed i want to die

knowing I’d still need to unload the dishwasher next morning.

Who cares about my stupid poem?

The bus driver doesn’t ask

about the battle it took to leave the house today.

Every step feels like dragging the sun across the sky

How is it fair to live with such fire inside,

yet feel so cold