POETRY THAT STAYS

Who will save me once I drown saving them?

I hope everyone gets the idea that everyone has a breaking point, that we are allowed to refuse to understand some of the things our tired hearts want to decline. 

That we could be so abusively full to the extent that we want to burst so hopelessly mad. I hope people see me that way. That I am not an open passage of people's frustrations. 

That I don't always have the perfect words to stuff all the cracks with daises. I grew tired denying that I am stronger than them and that my heart could handle all their breakages because they think I am always a welcoming door. 

I grew sick listening to the same sadness from the same people without seeing any improvements of them trying to help themselves. 

They invited their own storms into their home then shove their dark clouds in my neighborhood kitchen room so I'll eat their sadness as my dinner.

Sometimes I wonder how blurred I was to them not to see me scraping my skin to cover their cuts. Sometimes I wonder how good I was to them that they wanted to test where I hide my demons. 

Sometimes they fake their sadness just to make me sad. Sometimes I wonder if I am the only telephone number they have memorized. Sometimes, I wonder if i sounded exactly as 911.

Sometimes I ask myself where will I run if I needed to unload. Sometimes I wonder where they are when i am the one that's sad. 

Sometimes I wonder why they forget me when they're finally happy. Sometimes I ask myself, why am I always like this.