I’m still mad at myself for the
Things I don’t say.
When my brain needs an escape
But there’s no other way
Than keeping it in until I
Break like my heart the day
I almost died.
My stomach hurts but I’m still
Going to write a poem because
Without it I can’t talk.
I’ll joke until the end but I don’t know
How to say I can’t feel anything and I
Haven’t felt anything in months.
I’ll ignore my medicines because
They won’t work and
I’ll ignore my friends because
They can’t help and
I’ll ignore my problems because
I can’t talk.
So my stomach hurts and
I can’t talk.
Nothing’s new.