To my Family:

I'm fine.

That's all you needed to know.

That's all you wanted to know.

I don't want to take help from others.

I can deal with it on my own.

I've got two feet on the ground.

The gravity isn't too much.

I took on a lot this year,

and time is slipping away,

like I'm standing on the edge of the

cliff that's crumbling to the depths

below me but at least

the gravity isn't too much.

I like being alone.

I don't need to be with others constantly,

even at night when the world grows dark,

a cold-hearted time where I feel forgotten, but when

the gravity isn't too much.

Back then, I wanted him out of the house.

He was in constant pain, constant anger,

if he only went away, maybe then I'd feel that

the gravity isn't too much.

The colors are dripping out

of me, and it's not because

the gravity isn't too much.

In the end, it wasn't really the gravity,

the gravity isn't too much

 

because, truly, I am drowning.

 

I'm drowning in the fear of

broken hearts,

misdirection,

sickness,

but the worst is

the possibility that

I will be called out of school

with the wretched message that

the cancer had won.

And forever, my strength will

be lost because

the gravity is

too much.

 

But for now, I'll be fine.

 

Love, 

the Quiet One