my therapy

They say that God created all men equal but I don't believe so. 

Every day my head ends up in the clouds,

And my lungs make me breath slow. 

The pitter patter of my thoughts

combined with my ADHD, make me seem anxious and unstable. 

If only their eyes could see that this a good day for me, and good days are getting rare. 

Please don't think this a cry for help, 

I've done enough to hide my despair. 

Every cigarette is like a loaded gun, pointed at me like a judgmental woman's stare. 

Will I light this fuse, causing an inevitable chain reaction

Or will I just go with the motions, lay down, and regret my actions 

Overthinking is second nature to me, it's almost engraved in my bones. 

Apart of me will always be anxious, down to my walk and tone. 

I can not help what I do not know, so I become my own doctor. 

Prescribing myself with "space" and "time", and even considering becoming an actor. 

It is practical to me to try my hardest to hide these flaws. 

I'd rather not tell my friends my thoughts, they'd just sit there in awe. 

But don't get me wrong, my friends love me dearly this I cannot hide. 

But don't get me wrong, I don't want to reveal my dark side. 

For it wasn't long ago when I stared at the moon and cursed the world in vain,

Not know that someone way up there had a plan to release my pain. 

So I pick up the pen,

Every now and again,

And I let my heart grow easy. 

My unsteady handwriting pairs with my feelings and everything that I feel deeply. 

But when the letters become smooth, and the lines become curved,  I know that I made the right choice. 

My love is this art, I should've known from the start, that one day this might just pay the bills. 

And if it doesn't, then fuck it, just put one black gel pen in my will. 


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