I bite.
Not with teeth.
with silence,
with sharp glances,
with walls built higher than your reach.

I’m not cruel.
I’m just tired
of being kind first
and torn apart second.

You call it attitude.
I call it armor.
Because being soft
never saved me.
It only made the fall hurt more.

So I speak less now.
Agree less.
Trust less.
I pull away before someone has the chance
to walk out first.

It’s not that I don’t want love.
I’ve learned that even “I care about you”
can come with conditions.
Even soft hands
can leave bruises
you can’t see.

I bite
because once,
I didn’t.
And it nearly broke me.

---

Depressed—fighting silent wars,
Demons whisper through the pores
Of my thoughts. I try to stand,
But the weight won't leave my hands.

I'm not done. I'm not yet through,
But it's hard—what can I do?
I’ve got to fight for sanity,
But it's draining all of me.

Only midday, yet I’m bare,
Empty lungs and vacant stare.
This is more than tired breath—
This is what depression says.


---

---

Been living in my head all day.
How it saddens—
yet gladdens
my heart.

---