(Picture creds to me)
No one can see into the jumbled mess your brain is in, see your very core, who you are, the fractured thoughts that circle day in and day out, keeping you up at night, even with everything you know, everyone believes that thst know you. They don't. People have not peered into your real life, yet the continue to tell you "get over it" as if trauma is something you can snap your fingers, and get over. You have nothing to be sad about, right? Your parents love you, right? You have everything you would ever want, youre just another attention seeker, privileged and young, you're dumb, really.
Everyone who says this will claim they love you. God, everyone is a fake.
Including you.
You're a fake, you're a fake, youre a fake.
People cannot claim to know what's best, if they haven't even bothered to talk to you in months.
Fuck off.
If you dont even know yourself, that means no one else does either.
There are people that make things worse, "faggot," permanently imprinted on your forehead, bruises hiding in the darkest places of your soul, and mind. Words that are carved into your skin, for everyone to see, no it doesn't matter thst you're supposed to be friends, don't. They still call you "triggered" when they go out of their way to make you feel like shit. "Youre basically a girl, lol" "a tranny, lol"
They call you triggered when you're upset about it, they're the ones with their heads up their asses. So why woukd you care?
Even then, they arent the reason you question your existence, or draw a razor to your skin, not even your suicidal thoughts, no, those are your own fault. They just make it all a little harder to ignore, but whatever, maybe you'll suffocate. Hoepfully.
YOU ARE READING
Reaching For Nothing
PoetryThese are short little things of my thoughts, some considered sad, maybe. A lot of them are about space/the sky. I write them when I'm having existential crises. Its primarily written in 2nd person, with "you" but these are primarily my experiences...
