I try to tell my friends
That I am the same person
On the outside.
The same smile,
The same tears,
The same pale skin that is trying to cover my lifeless soul.
But what has changed now
Is my urge to look forward to things
My excitement when I look at people.
I can’t explain to them
How I want to get outside my house,
But I don’t feel like.
How the closed doors scare me
As much as the open fields
How the jewel I wore with pride
Now chokes me
How the flowers I tried to water
Are now dying of thirst
How I can only feel the thorns
Of the corset that is so beautifully decorated on my wrist
That I wish people make plans involving me
But secretly pray they cancel
Or make excuses so genuine
That I’ve myself started to believe them.
It is human interaction that I’m avoiding,
Yet that is the only thing I want.
I try to tell my sister
That it is hurting
But I can’t seem to channel my thoughts right
Or pen them down in a way
They make sense to anybody else except me,
But she would not listen.
Am I not saying it loud enough
Or clear enough?
I try to tell my mother,
She asks me to make new friends or better plans,
But she fails in trying to decipher the words dripping of my mouth,
Am I not speaking the same language, ma?
The fragrance I once enjoyed
Seems nothing but a pungent smell to me, now.
The same thoughts that let me fly,
Now hold me hostage.
They all tell me it’s a phase,
That it will pass.
That I’m too confident to be anxious,
Too verbose to withhold my own feelings,
Too outgoing to not socialize,
But it happens to me too.
I’m always anxious to say something,
Or when I meet somebody.
That I anticipate closure,
But flinch every single time I am somewhere near that point.
That I want honesty,
But do not have the audacity to look into someone’s eyes.
It is weird,Ma.
There is always a lullaby in my head,
But that keeps me up instead of letting me sleep.
They ask me to visit a professional,
Who’ll listen for the bucks I spend on them,
Not for the love they have towards me.
But Ma, I don’t know what to tell them.
I am drowning in the waves of water,
But only I’m not scared of depths.
I am choking on the words that echo pain,
But only I’m not even saying them aloud.
It is me I’m scared of,
I am not scared of dying, Ma.
I am scared of living.
I keep listening to you say you don’t understand what I am going through,
And that you’re sorry,
But Ma, don’t you see I don’t either and I’m sorry too.