I used to want to be a doctor.
I wanted to save lives and help others,
but now that I am older and have seen how humanity is,
I can't save anyone.
I can barely help myself.
Most mornings,  I struggle to get out of my unmade bed
And sometimes the only way to get dressed is to take those pills.
The ones that are supposed to make me "happy" or some ****.
What is "happy"?
Happiness is becoming a doctor and proving to your parents,
You did it. You made something of yourself.
Happiness is showering at 9 am instead of 3 pm just because you couldn't stop crying.
Happiness is being home alone without the fear of that medicine cabinet.
I am still figuring out what happiness without expectation is,
But there are still days when I want to become a doctor.
Save lives and help others.
But for now, I am saving my own life by helping myself.

Im fragile,
My heart is to the sky.
I am open, alive, and exposed in the night.
The world is bright, the sun is out
But I am hurt so I will shout
A cry
Of distress
In a bright yellow dress.
I sing a song of defeat
With a crowd before me
Who applauds for the melody,
I need a remedy.

I dont remember what I came here for
My heart is deaf from the sound of
slamming
doors.

She delved into the history of every man that she had encountered, the logic behind it is unbeknownst.

Creating an ambience of false power, She fed of the insignificance of her acquaintances remorseful mistakes.

"A twisted defense-mechanism or an uncanny need for controversiality?", The aftermath of her poorly hidden investigation once said.

As an adolescent she would sharply observe her mothers routine that is of utter meditation and self-loath, her mother kept asserting the understanding that a life without a dependable partner is a life of peace, Tranquility.

Surely it was the insecurities speaking.

"Love is an exterminated ploy" She would frequently mutter,  it was just a phenomenon manufactured by a cult of demoralized men seeking to shatter hearts of fragile women.

Resurrected by forms of art that exceeded her toxicity flourishingly, Fingertips of fire that were fondling the wrong set of organisms, Devising storms with her inherited charisma.

Demolishing normality with ways only she could comprehend.

"I will be gentle, I'm not like the others"

Oh, The dependable reassured tone can only mean so little.

A laugh bounces through the street below
Followed by that laugh's friends
A happy neighbourhood
Even this far into the evening
The sun was visiting elsewhere
Leaving a dull blue-grey
Spread over the sky.
A loop of those favourite songs we all had
Stumbles from second-hand speakers
You don't really hear them
Or rather, you don't hear them like you did
When you loved them.
This remedy-less loneliness
Is temporary
But you wouldn't know it to see it
It pulls you nowhere
And drags you into bed
It makes effort difficult
And overfills your head
With nothing it should be full of.