Fragility

Am I weak?

Am I made of paper? 

Easily torn

Easily scratched

While I’m surrounded by diamonds of friends.

All my problems are in my head

The origin of stress, doubts and insecurities.

Does that make them any less real?


It is a cycle, you see

Where I’ve finally made my peace with one thing

Only for the next to rear its ugly head

and shriek into my heart

Endless and harsh

It stretches me thinner and thinner


Did I finally snap

On that day

So overwhelmed by my own mediocrity

I wanted to purge it out of my brain

Through my throat

Only for my health

To stand in the way of my well being.


It’s too much

But now it’s not enough.


Which is worse?

To feel everything

Or having the life sucked out of you

So you are floating in the vast vacuum of space

With all your emotions just out of reach.


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Busybody
Poetry
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