Chicken Little

Sometimes I feel like chicken little

and no one else seems to see

that the sky is falling

and that I’m not strong enough to carry it.

 

Frantically fighting to get out of the way

Before the hammer falls

Before the sky overcomes me

Before finally I’m squashed flat

A 2D representation of pain

 

Sometimes I am the little engine that could

Pushing myself harder and harder

Whispering desperately to myself

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can

 

And maybe I could

Maybe there was a time I could have

Maybe someday I would have

But my train has derailed

And my dreams never left the station

 

Or sometimes I can be little red riding hood

Cloaked to avoid my own emptiness

Lost in my own forest

Wandering in the dark

Alone with my basket of used masks

 

Always running from the big bad wolf

Whether it’s myself

Or the man who said he loved me

Or the man who never tried to love me

Or the men I used because I could not love me.

 

Call me little though I am not little

Call my problems insignificant though they are everything to me

Call me anything you want

Please

But do not call me when your sky is falling

Because you never believed me

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741