I can hear myself asking, panicked and shaky
“Why is the room so small? Why is it so small?”
The room I’ve slept in for four hundred nights
Feels so unfamiliar, as if I’m seeing it through a new lens
****-tinted speactacles
I rock my body back and forth, hush my thoughts
And tell myself “it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay”
But I hear nothing but protests
An iniside rally, telling me that the world is ending
“Your friends are leaving”
“Your parents hate you”
”You are a failure”
But I keep screaming “it’s okay”
Hoping that soon
It will be.
