Living with this mental illness
Makes me unsure of who I am
Sometimes I want to believe
That my outbursts and tantrums
Are the symptoms
And not the me
And yet
They've been going on for so long
Maybe I've just adopted them
Maybe I've become someone new
Someone cold and blunt
Someone uncaring and unloving
Someone
Sick
YOU ARE READING
Beautiful Enough To Frame
PoetryTwo years in the making. Two years of my life put into words. There is nothing more left to say.
