I used to be scared of what hid under my bedsheets,
hid in the shadows of my closet.
I've come to find that I am what is hiding under the sheets.
(hiding from what?)
I am the shadows in my closet.

Yes, I write about sad because I am sad.
I AM SO ******* SAD.
STOP telling me HOW TO FEEL,
HOW TO ACT,
WHAT TO SAY,
AND HOW TO SEE THE WORLD.
I'm caught behind my silence because I don't know how to tell you
everyone is screaming at me
and they just won't stop
and I can't seem to differentiate between your crying and my own.
All I can see is broken glass.
I hit the wall so many ******* times
holding a bottle,
holding a ****,
holding a heart.
There's shattered glass everywhere.
No wonder my feet are bleeding.

"Your voice is so quiet."
"Speak up, please."
I'm screaming your name and you won't turn the **** around.
Was it something I said?
Or didn't say.

Do we want to hid in closets
or under piles of blankets
because that's the only place I feel warmth anymore.
That's the only place I feel *safe