jambiwind

if i somehow did everything right

if i became everything everyone expected me to be

if i behaved normal and politely

if i left behind all my own dreams to help others fulfill all of theirs

even if i could force the last drop of blood from my own heart, calcified and trembling

it still wouldn’t be enough, would it?

they’d sigh down at me, “what? you couldn’t handle the pressure? too difficult for you? afraid to commit?”

i truly believe it would heal me. i’d likely stop thinking about passively dying. i could finally catch up. it wouldn’t matter if people were still cruel to me; it’d be so easy to believe in myself

i don’t even want to type out the question

failing is not an option

but even if i could, i think

i think i don’t want to

i don’t want to tell anyone anymore

i don’t want to struggle to explain myself like always

i don’t want to be misunderstood or assigned guilt or questioned or taught or belittled or, at worst, ignored completely

i know i’m weird and i know that means alienation. it’s just simply the way it is

but i cannot spend another second begging to be believed

don’t worry. i got it. it’s added to my list. i can take care of it. i’ll handle it. i’m here for you. i remembered. i noticed. i took initiative. i thought about it for you before-hand. i’ll make you something to eat. there’s ibuprofen on the nightstand. no i don’t want you to pay me back. i’m plenty happy knowing it’s one less thing you have to stress about.

the pail has leaks / & even if / you pour all your water / into it / you’ll end up with / nothing left to drink