Dear, Lady Who Told Me to "Get it Together"
Nobody tells you how sharp it feels,
like a chord
snapping and curling up on the e-string of a violin,
how it means walking on the eggshells
you just used to make your favorite dessert
and waking up gasping for air every morning
with that pain underneath your rib cage thinking,
this is it, this is the end.
Nobody tells you how tough it is, like sore muscles and stiff jaws,
like sandpaper scrubbed across the back of your eyelids
as you struggle to stay up,
because why risk a nightmare
when you could vomit galaxies and stardust into paper with only a journal and some secrets.
Nobody tells you how much it burns
like staring into the sun even though you risk going blind
and your eyes are watering and burning
but you can't stop because it makes art underneath your eyelids
like your screen turned up all the way in the middle of the night,
like the hot blue burst of flame, or a firework as you realize,
maybe this is for real this time, maybe this is the worst day of my life.
Nobody tells you how scary it is
like the mili-seconds before you hit the ground,
after tripping over your own words.
Nobody tells you how it ends, because you can never really tell.
The crushing weight on your chest never lifts,
just moves to your shoulders and rests there until the next episode.
The terror sinks to the base of your throat
like an anchor of a ship
and the anxious pangs are as common as your steady breathing.
Nobody tells you about how you can't shrug it off,
that it's gripping like a noose or fist, or some other deadly weapon,
that it is not the shock of cold water, but the beast that drags you underneath.
The Girl Who's Been Trying for Years