My phone screen is too bright
Parties are too loud
Work is exhausting

And what I’m doing for my mental health isn’t enough

I hope this ends soon
Not with death, I just want whatever this is to stop
I’m getting through it, don’t get me wrong
I’m just worried to see who I am when I come out the other side

I'm my mother's daughter
It's in my genes to cry
The littlest things set me off
When I was in third grade
I cried at my standardized writing test
It wasn't hard, I was just stuck
I love writing
I'm good at it
I always have been
But I couldn't handle the pressure to write well
That my entire life was based on my grades
and how well I scored on tests
And wrote about a three page story
I cry when I'm frustrated
When I could do a math problem on my homework
When I couldn't remember simple biology questions
But I did well on the tests
So they assumed I was fine
I assumed I was fine
How could I not be fine, I did well
I was talented
I was skilled
And I was doing well
My life was too good for me to be upset
I had to reason to be upset
And no one realized I might no be ok
Until I stopped eating and lost 15 pounds
But even then I told myself I was fine
I was eating less because I was doing less
I wasn't using as much energy so I wasn't eating full meals
I only at a tiny portion of my already small plate
But I was eating so I was fine
I moved out and started school, fully online
I was lonely
But I had my roommates
So I was fine
I couldn't bring myself to go to the class I thought I would love
I was failing a class
I was doing nothing to fix it
I was starting to hate writing and reading
But I had a plan to leave my major
So I was fine
I failed my first college class
But everyone gets one mistake
Everyone screws up once
It was during covid
Everyone is struggling
So I was fine
Everyone else is fine
So I am fine
And I keep telling myself that
In hopes that one day it'll be true
I am Fine

name,
class,
professor,
date.

intro.

i believe i am quite burnt out.

conclusion,
bibliography.

The answer “Ok, just tired.”,
like a reflex action,
as knee-**** as the daft decisions,
naïve, fear driven, not yours,
that put you here

In that “tired”, a million branched to’s
trigger a billion possible do’s
flowing like black sand
while you run on fumes
trying to clear
just
one
space

No one wins
digging holes on the beach
while the ignorant tide comes in

For a moment,
a minute maybe,
an hour,
my head went under

it wasn’t thrashing gasps
or clawing to froth the surface,
just a steady,
non-negotiable weight
that spoke to my ankles
of depths

I tried to keep my eyes up
following the lipped bubble trail
to the howling truth above
but when my head dropped
the blue belows almost soothed

finally, before lungs gave,
tired fingers relented,
worried the knots,
freed the old strokes loose

every day -
hustling and bustling
eating and sleeping
ever week -
Monday to Friday
nine to five
every year -
working and holidaying
waiting and longing
to be free.