all i know of my sadness is this:
it kills me or i learn to live with open wounds.
nineteen years & i’m tired of half-life,
treating the disease as if it can be cured
when these are the cards i’ve been dealt.

but i have no place to heal.
my parent’s house is not my home.
i thought i’d grown roots too deep to damage.
but i ripped myself out by accident.  chose my own path.
the trouble is, i’m running blind through the brambles.
trying to right the wrongs.  every step i make towards where i want to be,
something else has to give.  
the scratches left on my bare limbs just won’t heal.

the truth is, i’m halfway to giving up on getting better.
the truth is, i need a promise that the future is worth fighting for.
the truth is, i’m not sure i’m okay.

i am my own lighthouse.  my own lanternlight.
i am my own constellations when i’m drowning in the blackness.
but i don’t want to be alone.
i’ve been alone far too long
& i don’t want to be alone.
not again.  not ever.

they say, everything is temporary
they say, some die yearning for a hand to hold
& i swear, i will not be one of them.