sometimes the world just makes me want to scream
like I'll explode from all this bottled rage
and sadness and envy
like my voice will crack and fracture
from being so silent
so unheard
but what is the point of screaming
what is the point of exploding
what is the point of rage
and sadness and envy
when none of it will be heard either
when none of them will listen
what is the point of all my trying
when it doesn't fix anything
when I can't fix anything
when I am what I can't fix
— sometimes i really hate being queer
YOU ARE READING
wilting roses
PoetryAnother collection of (bad) poems. *tw: mentions of sexual assault, drug use, drinking, suicidal ideation and self harm* -a collection of poems that document my experiences with my mental health throughout high school. a warning: i had a few undiagn...
