It's funny how you thought you overwhelmed me,
when really, I overwhelm myself.
These are my thoughts, aren't they?
You have no ties to them.
I could refrain from giving you anything.
I attempt to pick through the logic.
You don't see the way I do;
it seems futile to blame it all on
fractures in my mind, in a brain
intent on destroying me,
because that would mean I'd have
to retrain, relearn
everything...
And it's not even been a week,
and I feel like a wreck.
Like I've climbed the summit and am now
peering down at a thousand enemies.
But didn't you just say emotions aren't inherently bad?
So I sit, trying to write, trying to pinpoint
in the hopes that this is a success.
That you see I'm trying.
That you see the invisible conflict when I'm present,
yet not really here.
I've remembered your words about identity,
not becoming the darkness inside,
and I guess in many ways I romanticize it,
but one could argue, it's helped me survive this long.
So now, who do I have to turn to, in between the hours?
How can I separate these distortions?
How can I properly equip the skills you teach,
when the path before me hasn't solidified itself?
How do I plan for a future you hope I see,
when the future feels galaxies away?
___________________________________
Written while listening to "Healing Foot" by Linkin Park a few times:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KKpwDFueO8E&list=WL&index=19
