I'd rather not focus on
my mother's face as she says she'll visit, all nonchalant and humorous, as if she doesn't know she's caught in a lie,
the repressed arrogance of a friend's voice when she tells me to talk more, not be so quiet, as though it's as easy as breathing,
the wave of emotions when I come home from school, stressing me, trapping me, not being able to move as I sit on my bed and think of all these things I cannot do.

I'd rather focus on
the smell of the ground after a storm, filling my nose and forcing me to live in this moment, this scent, for just a little while longer,
the bass in a song, leaking into my body through my ears, pumping melodies into my veins that tell me what I cannot say,
the feel of hot tea flowing down my throat, and making my chest feel as if somebody is giving me a hug, all warm and soft like.

I'd rather focus on the simple things in life that don't matter
because the things that do matter
weigh down on me like a ton of bricks
never giving me room to breathe
the things that do matter
lift me up
until I'm as elevated as I need to be
to have happiness.