I don’t get my mind.

Sometimes I hate myself.
Sometimes I want to hate myself.
Sometimes, I just don’t get it.

I sit still—
And yet, am I still?

I shake uncontrollably,
internally.

Do I feel safe
in this skin,
in this mind that hurts?

When silence is a reward,
Is life the punishment?

Spending time with people
you care for them,
you love the time,
you cherish,
you live,
you exist
and yet,

I still need the silence.

But what happens
When silence starts to feel unsafe?
When sitting still and movement
both become burdens?

Tied to a screen,
To a mirror,
To an expectation
Of how life will go—
Because if it doesn’t...

Then am I just existing to take up space someone else should’ve had?

Maybe my pain lets someone else
Be happy,

Just for a moment.

If I go,
I want all to know—
Maybe it will work out for the better.

Maybe silence,
Sitting still,
Alone.

Maybe that is all I need