I'm incapable of feeling feelings,
but that's okay.
these feelings are feelings
I have to pay,
what more can I say?
when feelings are allowed to feel,
that's when it's harder to heal,
my emotions are now sealed,
it'll never be concealed.
I can't feel happy,
even when days ain't ******;
I can't feel sad,
even when everything goes bad;
I can't feel love,
even when I can see doves;
I can't feel feelings,
this is what I'm dealing.
This poem is the side effect of taking anti-depressants.
My therapist said if I'm okay with the numbness.
Casually, I told her these feelings I'm feeling are the reason why I'm sitting here with her today.
My stomach is a lake of red wine and pills that are supposed to make me feel better about my life.
My hands vibrate and clench themselves into fists that are sometimes full of my own hair.
My eyes are heavy and decorated by deep purple half circles from lack of sleep.
Sometimes my stomach is filled with butterflies,
and I silently hope they don't drown.
Occasionally my hands are in another pair of hands.
They're held like a prize.
Some nights my eyelids are kissed lightly to sleep.
My pupils dilate from the drugs,
and from that boy's love.
The white circles I swallowed every morning are supposed to make me feel better about life,
but I don't think any scientist, pharmacist, doctor
ever once anticipated the thought of another human being like him.
— The End —