I had someone tell me that you can't really be broken.
I wanted to call them a liar.
I have felt broken, haven't you?
You think and worry and turn into something else. You panic and attack yourself. You hate who you are. By now you have pretended so much that you don't know who you are anymore. Your thoughts change, your personality changes, you change. You will never go back to how you were.. It won't ever be the same.
I don't know about you, but I classify that as broken.
You can be fixed, you just won't ever be the way you were before.

I like simple things.
Walking
Breathing
Talking
I don't like simple things that turn into compex things.
Sprinting
Hyperventilating
Arguing
I have a hard time focusing on simplicity when it all changes into complexity without warning.

You are crying for help.
You need help
You think I can help..
Its 2:00am
I get a text
I get a call
  I can't help you
  I wont let myself.
I'm sorry I'm so broken.
I try and give you comfort.
   No one was there to comfort me.
I try to be your friend.
   I didn't even have a friend.
I want you to trust me.
  I don't even trust myself.
Everytime I try to help I make it worse.
I can't help you.
I will hurt you.
Part of me knows you can do it.
I did.
I love you.
But I can't help you.
Sorry.
Bye now.

My mind is exploding.
I have so much in my head.
This oxygen, I'm breathing, I'm surviving.
I'm killing time.
I'm killing my thoughts.
I need less.
I need less of me.
I need less ideas.
I'm fighting my head.
It's a literal war.
The sad thing is that
I don't think I'm winning.

I don't quite understand why the sun on my face or the hot pavement on my feet makes me feel free.
Because skin gets burned.
I don't really know why the boxy shoes that judge and snarl make me feel beautiful when I dance.
Because they broke me.
I don't really know why mcdonalds french fries and country songs that I hate make me miss you.
Because you were more than that.
I don't get why they say the light always wins the darkness or why the dark always scared me.
Because now the darkness feels like home.

January is new
A fresh start.
A time when you ponder life.
Where were you a year ago?
Where will you be a year from now?
You can only hope not here.
Not feeling like this.
This year has been hell.
You know I don't think I can go one more.
I guess we will see.
January is a fresh start to a mess.
Good luck.

I feel guilty
I have no right to feel like this
I have no real reason to
write poems like this
I don't know when I started to
enjoy being alone more than with company
Nothing happened
Nothing changed,
Except me.