My stomach is a coffin,
Holding each meal.
Waiting to explode out of the casket,
Rejecting what my body needs the most.
My nausea is the funeral,
Coming like waves.
On a stormy day.
Locking me in for hours.
No escape.
My pain is the graveyard.
Bones and ghosts haunt my past
And hurt my future.
They yell and mock,
No matter what they talk.
My brain— the tears,
Running down my face like rain,
As my body feels like a knife plunging into me.
Late nights, and early mornings of shooting, stabbing pain
That won't give up for a second.
No avail.
I don't want to live with this pain,
This nausea,
The throwing up.
My demon mocks, “It got ya.”
The dizzy, and headaches,
The late nights, and early mornings,
The nightmares and flashbacks,
All the times I felt faint,
The time I fainted—
I don't want to live like this.
I need help to find a way.
Whether it's meds, appointments, or therapy,
As long as no one blames it all on something
Completely out of order.
I'm running into a border—
A wall,
A blockage.
I fall.
I trip.
I get shoved.
Will I fit in?
Into this place?
Will I make stupid mistakes?
Will I be betrayed?
Pain is something I don't take lightly.
I used to keep it hidden,
I used to use a mask.
But now that I'm open about it,
People think I'm attention-seeking
When I'm just trying to communicate,
When I don't know exactly how yet.
Sure—I've told lies,
I've made a disguise.
I'm trying to change.
I have made a mistake.
I'm human, I do that sometimes.
I'm willing to take responsibility for my actions.
I just need someone to listen.
Because I'm sick of living in a black hole,
Feeling like a knife is plunging into my stomach with each cramp,
Each sting.
The nausea is the other thing it brings.
I just need someone to listen.
And I need help with many things.
So many…
Like pain.