Not knowing why
I try
Just to fail again
Get back up
Get pushed down
Not knowing why
Not knowing why...

how could anyone love an eliza
when it stumbles off my tongue
like it doesn’t belong to me?

my new year’s resolution
is to take my medicine every night

why would i not take it
if it keeps me whole?

i don’t know
i wish you could tell me

yeah, call me a ****.
it must be why i’m not only afraid of intimacy,
but any sort of physical touch as well.

one year ago today,
you reached out for the first time.
my mom says i dodged a bullet,
but i know—
i would’ve taken that bullet for you,
been collateral in your war.

except now
it might be my own bullet.

the vacuum hums,
and i feel it in my chest—
a restless kind of anger,
like a match about to strike.

maybe it’s because the sound
reminds me of yelling,
of my mom’s voice tearing
through the air like it had teeth.
when i hear it now,
i want to scream back,
but there’s no one here to blame.

the only time i can stand it
is when my hands are on the handle,
when i’m in control of the noise.
maybe that’s the metaphor:
it’s not the sound,
but the power to make it stop.

Let's just say
I opened my heart
I would smell the anxiety
Fear
Love
Pain

But I wonder
If anyone else would
But I think not
Because when it was closed
No one cared
Or wondered what's really going on in there

So now what now?
It just gets hurt more easily?
I don't need any more of that

I stitch it back up
Now the air smells of nothing important
Fake smiles
"I'm okay"'s
Covered up opinions
Feelings
Screams

I guess it's better that way

he’s not broken like me,
so i hide my cracks—
afraid he’ll see the light
slipping through.