"Let's play a game,"

my brain says,

probably because calling it

a game makes it seem

less like something I have to do.

 

"Let's try to think of as few people as possible

that would feel bad that you're depressed 

before you start crying."

 

God was too abstract,

even when I was fourteen

my psyche told me to stop

putting them first.

 

I tried to stave off saying my best friend,

because I just remember her yelling at me

to pull my life together, to be responsible 

with myself.

 

I put off my teachers,

because isn't it weird to think

you might be better friends with 40 year olds

than people who have known you your whole life?

 

It didn't leave me with much:

my record was a dozen people,

my worst was over forty.

 

But my brain loved me,

took care of me,

got me the release I needed late at night,

wetting my pillow with the tears 

I couldn't shed in front of others.

 

So don't tell me 

it's nice to hear someone loves me,

because that's for me to judge,

and there's plenty of people who do.

 

Including you.