Sometimes I feel weightless,
A whirling feather in a sea of guilt.

I feel worthless,
A speck of dust meant only to be exhaled.

I feel tired,
Suppressed,
And alone.

I want to be loved,
But I don’t want to fill the role myself.

I wish to be wanted,
But look in the mirror with disgust.

I feel exhausted.
I feel like a torrent of hail and rain engulfs me in suffering.

I know I’m not okay.
But that isn’t what I show.

I give them their smile, a raised hand here or there.

I hand them the work they asked for,
And I act like I have plans on the weekends when they ask.

I hurt behind closed doors,
And scream my silent tears.

My blood pours, but I want something more.
I want to be heard, and I want to be found.

I don’t want to lock myself away so tight that the straitjacket won’t come loose.

I want the help I really don’t deserve,
But I am selfish and I need it.

I need the comfort of a person,
I need to hear their voice.