Some days it wants me to stay in bed
Keeping me there
So it can have me all to itself
It always has its hand on my shoulder
Trying to control my every mood
Sometimes when it doesn't get jealous
It lets my relationships blossom and grow
But then makes me feel guilty as soon as I get home
It follows me on my dates
Making me keep my eyes down and my voice low
When it's gone I feel myself fill with guilt
It no longer has its hands around my throat
And the pain has gone away
I find myself waiting for it's return
Waiting for my head to go under
At least I never have to live alone
Because I know it'll move back in when it misses me
YOU ARE READING
gas station flowers
Poetrycoming of age poetry by a queer young adult writer. navigating relationships and the coming out process. peak inside the mind of a young woman with a mental illness.
