Sometimes I feel useless.
I feel kinda like a rock.
Rocks are there, always.
On the ground, in the street, in the grass, on the sidewalk.
Sometimes people notice them, if they're lucky someone will take them home and keep them forever, even though it gets forgotten about rather quickly.
Most of the time people will notice rocks and kick them to the side.
That's how I feel.
I either feel cherished then forgotten, or I feel kicked to the side.
Rocks and I are good friends.
YOU ARE READING
Mental Illness
PoetryPoems and short stories about mental illnesses I've struggled with. Some chapters might be triggering to read. Please don't read further in if a chapter triggers or upsets you. Take care of yourselves <3
