sometimes it's ok to cry

breathe.

when you're not here, i feel empty
and when you're here, i feel full
but not the kind of full that i'd like to be

you fill up my stomach
where food should be

you sit there in a pile of worries and guilt
and the countless feelings i wish i didn't have

you throw heavy weights on my shoulders
no amount of exercise could make someone strong enough to lift them
yet i still do.

because it's what i'm used to
it's all i've ever known
you make the little food in my stomach
feel heavier than a bag of stones

you make my already shaking hands
even worse by making them sweat

if my voice simply isn't shaky enough
you can make it just stop working
if you really want to
and for some reason, you do.

if my lungs aren't damaged enough
you take everything out on my heart

and my heart pounds as if
i've run through hell and back
but all i've been trying to do is
breathe.

~the anxious