It isn't you.
It's me.
Yes it's true it's me.
I'm the problem.
See while we may be sitting in an awkward silence or a comforting kind of silence or an I need a minute to think of what to say next kind of silence.
Inside my head. There is no silence.
Only like a million thoughts racing each other. Anxiety has become my other half.
Depression my best friend.
So yes, for once, it's not you, it's me.
I'm the problem.
I've been pretending that I'm ok.
And those who can tell I'm not keep asking me and I've had to lie to them and say yes I'm ok.
Skin deep I'm actually not ok.
I'm wondering why the devil chose me again. Wondering why he lies and doesn't tell me everything.
Why he didn't mention the sadness and depression.
Why he won't answer my calls or my questions. Wondering why he made my eyes feel like they've been poured in lemon every time I see my reflection. Why is it that even the people most closest to me can't accept affection.
Why he made it so hard for me to walk away.
Why I feel the need to explain myself, my body and my heart to people that often neglect my history.
It's not you. It's me. I'm the problem.
The burden you can't part with.
-MissRoub
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Growth
PoetryGrowth; something that has grown or is still growing. I consistently find myself doing the things I don't know how to do in order to learn how to do them. I've taught myself to grasp the fact that change is inevitable, growth is optional. I understa...
