I could not tell you the last time I didn't cry because he said the thing I didn't wanna hear, I am sensitive, and idiotic like that
"There you go crying like it's the end of the world again" He says "It's not the end of the world" I remind myself through a sob
I wish I could say depression didn't make me feel every inconvenience wasn't the end
You see I haven't been happy for more than a couple hours a week since I was 10 maybe younger than that
You only get glimpses of that allusive thing through the cracks on the brokenness that is my brain
That word "happiness" feels foreign in my worst moments
Depression makes me more fragile then glass and I am never fully happy or present I don't know when I will be with this crushing weight on top of me
His love to me is the guard rail on the highway of my personal hell keeping me from driving off but he will never understand
I wish I could separate myself from this looming cloud but it is as much a part of me as I am it intertwined like chain links that are unbreakable by the bond of whatever terrible thing creates the mentally ill monster I am
I would like to think I am not a monster but I destroy moments so easily you would think it was what I was sculpted to do
I constantly feel as if I deserve nothing and when things aren't right in what my stupid brain needs every brick in the world might as well be sitting on my chest so I can no longer breath as I hold back the need to scream through my tears that hold the salt I rub in everyone's wounds
What ever created me never should've
my existence is a menace
YOU ARE READING
poetry she wrote
PoetryI'm emotional and dramatic what a perfect recipe for poetry I suppose. so here I shall right about pain, happiness, and love. I expect no one to pay attention or omage. yet if you do I'll honestly be a little greatful. I won't lie I like to be notic...
