My knees are weak as I fall to the ground.
The stairs I lay on has yellow fuzzy carpet. Carpet that is full of crumbs, dust, and nail polish.
The yellow carpet was once white, but is now not, no one knows why only it knows.
My knees can’t stabilize as my brain can’t make a move.
Without a moving body I have no moving brain, but I can’t have a moving body without a brain.
All I can think of is the words you put in my head. I’m to scared of your movements and every word you say is like a million of needles pinching me to teach me a lesson.
I’ve become to weak that I don’t seem weak to myself. Because for as long as I can remember I’ve been like this, weak. That I forgot how it felt to try or work hard.
So once I lay on the yellow fuzzy carpet. Not worried someone will see my salty tears hit the stairs, or see me falling to the ground. All I care about it whether or not if you know your words hurt too much to explain.
Whether or not you choose to be this way.
Because I’m feeling the yellow fuzzy carpet beneath me, and I’ve been on this yellow fuzzy carpet stairway to many times before.
Is this okay? It's practically a draft and I only feel a need to write poetry when I am panicking or crying
