I went to a therapist once
thinking I could change myself
make myself better, take a load off my chest
and so we talked about
my childhood
my abuse
my drug habits
raising myself and my brother
but the one thing that stuck out from that session
was when she asked
"what are your hobbies?"
I cocked my head.
"what do you do for fun? what do you do to relax?"
and I realized
I didn't do much of anything.
"I used to write."
but there's nothing more I have to say.
because most people stopped listening
and the voices got meaner
and I couldn't bare to even see those thoughts
manifested outside of my mind
and I didn't know how to make my pen create happiness instead of depression.
"why don't you write anymore, then?"
"I just don't have the time, I suppose."
YOU ARE READING
wilting
Poetryjust a couple poems I started working on, figured I might as well let you know I'm not dead and I do still exist
