My life in a letter
What could a letter even confine
Could a comma express the feelings so huge I feel like I'm being strangled, could my fingers describe the noose?
Maybe this is a way words I didn't say could somehow come loose
But would you even read it?
I guess I could continue that this is more for me than you but we both know that's just a thing therapists say to make it okay
But sometimes, when I'm filled with all these words I didn't say and things I didn't do like some ginormous balloon I feel like I could burst
But I don't.
I keep it in.
I leak a little so people can get an idea of what's within
I stay strong
Hate to confide
Because people have it harder than me and everyone is just trying to survive
Wish I could express who I am and what I feel all the time
But I don't know who I am
and I'm almost never who I want to be
Dancing in the halls, making puns about whatever I see
But then I look at a face not as content as mine and I retreat back into my mind.
Feels more like sinking in quicksand but it keeps my frozen in time and I can't get out because no one has lent me a vine and I just sit there because I'm in a bind and I just wish someone would just lend me a line and pull me up by my bootstraps and tell me
You're just fine
So I sit on my bed and wish
I wish I would talk to you and for you to get it
I wish I could be myself and never regret it
I wish I could stop making lists and go out and get it
But for now I will articulate my thoughts onto this paper, and then shread it.