it's funny,
i guess,
how you call me a closed book,
when really,
to open a closed book,
to lift it,
by the front cover,
and,
read all it's secrets,
it's truths,
it's lies,
it's whispers,
you must put in the effort,
which you are not willing to do.

Define: Anxiety
(n) A feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease about something with an uncertain outcome
Worry, nervousness, unease
All true
But in reality?
Anxiety settles in the fissures of your mind
Squats in the darkest recesses
And laughs at you,
Crushes you
Asks questions like,
Was I good enough?
Am I good enough?
Will I be good enough?

I was today years old when i realised
that if your heart were to shatter
mine would too

i think my heart is constructed from the little pieces that i take
from the people who mean the most to me
for example, in the right top corner
you can hear the notes of your laughter as we dance around you
and just below that, you'll see the way your face brightened as you talked about something stupid
to me
but important
to you

these feelings that make up my heart are
like bricks,
laid messily atop one another
with your happiness the mortar in-between

and i think

if tears were to roll off your face
onto my heart
they would dissolve that mortar,
weaken the structure just a little
until it shatters

into tiny pieces,
like rubies in the sunlight,
glinting crimson and warm

of course,
hearts can be patched together
a steady hand, some glue and

a whole load of patience

but,
that's what i'm here for right?

I have a thousand and one voices in my head, none of them mine
I am holding my hand out, through the crowd
Faceless voices and bodies, milling about in my head
I reach through them,  hoping I can grab hold of her (them?)
And pull them (her?) up out of the void
Otherwise, I fear, she (they?) might fall and disappear into the chasm
I think I need some help
Someone to grab my ankles and lower me down
Until I can reach her (them?)
Reaching
Reaching
Reaching
But my hands stay empty
They stay empty
And I worry, I'll stay empty forever
With no respite,
From a thousand and one voices inside my head, none of them mine

The body is a series of puzzles put together to make one big puzzle.
The mind.
The body.
The ***** systems.
The tissues.
The cells.

Puzzles within puzzles.

Mental health takes those puzzles
Lays them upon a flat surface
And swings its hammer in a wide arc
To Shatter those puzzles,
Break up the tiny, interlocked pieces,
And scatter them across the plane of your soul.

“Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”
― Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

this quote,
it strikes me in the heart
a sharp blade of truth and fear
of knowing what i know.

loner is a strong word,
and yet i keep telling you that is what i am,
i don't fit in, never have, i don't want to,
oh, but how i do.

solitude is a long word,
highlighted again and again and again,
because rather than "face my demons"
i prefer to stay at home, alone,
not that you'd know.
it's odd how often i seek solitude,
how often i wish to stay in a place where there is no one, to judge me
or look at me
or rate me
or ask me how i'm doing
or shun me for my grades/pass/fail
i am not numbers on paper,
i am not an email of red and green dots
i am not a string of senseless symbols on a portfolio,
i am not a percentage or a candidate number
i am a person
i am me
and i expect to be treated as such, but i
am too afraid to tell you that
no, not afraid, anxious,
why?
you tell me.

disappoint,
a harsh word,
something i've seen in your eyes many times,
something i've always associated with,
it's hard to type this out,
because those ten letters
(ten is a lovely round number)
because those ten letters
will always haunt me,
a ghost of my past, present and i fear, my future,
i try,
i try,
i try,
i try,
but i can't
not when you make it difficult,
people speak of how they can tell their mothers anything and yet,
i find it hard to even say hello,
so yes, disappoint is the right word,
in more than one way,
i don't say this with conviction, because i don't think you deserve it,
(and yet somehow i do)
but i'm sorry.