Kenn's Book Of Poems

The Struggle Inside

I try so hard sometimes that I forget who I am.
Who I was.
Who I'm supposed to be.
I'm supposed to be what society wants me to be.
I have to fit in a box just to be counted as "okay".
But I'm not just okay.
I'll never be that. I, I can't be that.
I have to be better than that.
I have to be the person that cares for everyone else.
Who is there for all of my friends
my family
others who seek help and guidance.

I don't have time for myself.
I don't have time for "emotions".
I have to be the strong one.
No matter if I feel so so small.
Small enough that I could be squished like a bug.
Or if I can't get out of bed.
Or if I'm sick.
Or if I just had someone close to me get injured
a divorce in the family
a friend thinking about suicide
losing a lot of friends.

I have to help them before I deal with my pain.
I'm easily able to be missed.
No one would care if I was just gone.
Poof. In the air.
They wouldn't care if I disappeared randomly.
I'm just a traveling therapist but I don't have a degree.

Even if you can see through the cracks in my walls,
there's more and more to replace them.
1 by 1 by 1 by 1,
They pile on and on and on, and you feel smothered.
That feeling?
That's my anxiety.
I build more walls so it has to travel through a maze.
It can't catch up to me if I catch up to it first.

I don't know what makes me get up in the morning.
Maybe music?
Videos?
Just needing a distraction that's not harmful to me?
Yeah... that last one sounds right.
I'll just listen to my friends,
their problems will distract me from mine.

I can't keep going like this,
I'll eventually break, I know it.
You can ask me how I feel.
I'll consider saying this entire story.
But you won't listen.
Because all I'll utter is
two.
simple.
words.
"I'm fine."
But deep down?
I'm not.
It's just a way of saying "help me."
Please help me.
Help me like I helped you.

Because it might actually save me too.