There are some days
I think to myself
I am beautiful

But most days I can't
Sometimes I catch
Just a glimpse

In the mirror is the girl
She is the one
I wish I could be always

She is graceful
She is beautiful
She is everything I want to be

I cannot look again
If I do I won't see her
I will only see me

It's disappointing
I can only see her
Just the single time

These days I don't
I no longer see her
I am no longer beautiful

The American dream
The long march
Men Sitting in office parks
waiting
listening to the droning sound of a fan
Doing whatever work
Plops in there lap
With no question
As to why
Men driving nails
into concrete
Into wood
in the distance they can hear
the feint sound of an impact drill
they question themself silently
2 no, maybe 3 floors up?
Backhoes of dirt
Back and forth
Being ran by a detached man longing
For his son
and wife
The starving beggar
Passed by everyone on the street
Yet persists hoping to get enough
For his next meal
or his next drink
and im supposed to see this and join in?
and im expected to do this till i die? ha
If this is the american dream
Let me wake up

It then comes to a point where in there are no more tears left to be shed

I do not yearn for love.
Not romance, nor friendship.
I struggle in this passive isolation
yet I do not seem to yearn.

I am empty in that context.
Never feeling full, nor have I ever before.
I claw and cut and scream for simple peace
yet I seem to be punished with restlessness.

Maybe the peace is found within
regaining a sense of yearning.
Maybe the peace is only found within
the final ‘death’ do us part.

I tried
I tried
I tried
I hurt
You thrived
I tried
I hung on
I’m tired
You’re gone.

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