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I wrote a mental poem, 

because it had to be done. 

I wrote a mental health poem,

because quiet frankly I felt disgusted with myself for taking so long to do this. 

I wrote a mental health poem,

because isn't silence the reason that we got here in the first place, 

in this freshly made grave, didn't his tears sound like rain to you? 

Didn't you taste the salt in her words or wasn't it worth your daily bread? 

I wonder, did you imagine the bonfire too? 

They the burned and not you. 

Did you imagine yourself a paragraph without questions? Without questions?

Did you imagine yourself out of existence, better if you didn't exist? 

Did you imagine yourself the sun the moon plotting along an axis and having none of the joy in between? 

Did you imagine yourself the punchline, your life the joke? Funny, when the only jokes in my life have been the words "It's all in your head." 

Like roses didn't grow here, did you see beauty inside me or did you also see the darkness? 

You the light, that shines away from me.

Ignore the silence, the space in between us is everything my heart says, 

my retweeted hashtags like protruding roots coming out of my loveless trunk that I keep hidden, locked away like low whispers.

My life like the pause before bad news, my modesty says, 

but deep down the cuts that you do not see remind me that even on my good days I'm both. 

Why are you so sad? 

Why is sadness a part of you? 

Couldn't you just take it apart piece by piece? 

Like Legos aren't you the building blocks to everything your parents made? I'm not.

They do not understand. 

Smiles only show you the lies, 

a mask the truth hides, 

listen to me choke on your expectations, do my footsteps scare you? 

Each print a chasm of pain that you didn't even notice was really close by, 

death my only choice here, 

do my footsteps scare you? Or am I alone in this story? 

Written with blood in my hands, 

that even now has the familiar taste of me, 

and if I'm being honest right now, 

not once did I imagine myself the victim. 

I can look you dead in your eyes, 

lie to myself and say it again and again that I believe in me.

My body inanimate to that fact, shocked,

it asks, 

"Are you sure, because I don't." 

 

23/02/20✔️