Dear Human (at first I wrote narrow minded *******),
This is not a hate poem, although it started out as one it's something finished before my time a game already won
My tendons would love to stretch 15 minutes before beginning the race but I wake up every morning to a piercing toast, a celebratory guffaw of an after party having been exploited and raw there is no point for me to stretch metaphorically that is for if i don't stretch before I start my day I tweak like a bike in need of WD40
I can't speak because everything I saw deserves an explanation scratch that I can't speak because I'm afraid of judgement like heavy wet cement, I'll drown in my unspoken words though so I write these down back to the point
Irritable Bowel Syndrome is a ***** if I don't stretch my aching quaking body can't **** right and if I can't **** right every other stressor strangles my already mangled mind and body Depression is wet cement dripping from my air vent molding my notches and bolts stone solid yet, I have to get up and stretch to walk amid, among, noodles
Falling asleep is difficult because I want to get the night over with and Waking up is difficult because I want to get the day over with Not a study session waiting for snacks more my socks are stuffed with thumbtacks and I forgot everyone finished their after party so I'm pounding my feet sprinting for a finish line I'll never cross
Like when I woke up in the hospital, banging my head against the wall believing I could smash my way outside on this day, three years ago My mania surged lightning bolt electric jolt a thousand watt volt I would never be released until normalcy increased so I spent every waking moment stretching desperately trying to release the desperate stress molded in my body
Depression is wet cement, I have learned to slip through it's cracks by releasing the firey strength I hold inside my bones I hold inside my soul Oh human, please hear me with your open ears yet if you can't, I have no fear your judgement cannot touch me I am on fire, all victims of depression you, we, are not weak merely misunderstood by false desire we are misunderstood Blazing wet cement on fire