You are the ocean and although I've never been a bad swimmer, I am ******* drowning in your waves.
Each time I get my head above the water and gasp for the air I need to survive, you pull me back under your blue waters.
Others have swam out so far and tried to pull me back to the shore, but as soon as my feet hit the sandy and safe shore, I lie on the ground and let the rough waves take me back out again.
My biggest fear is not that I will die from drowning in your wake,
but that I will never know what the bottom of your ocean floor looks like.
You keep me exactly where you'd like me- just deep enough to keep me from getting the precious air I need,
but close enough to the sky that I can never really see the beauty that lies beneath the surface of your water.
I fear I will stay here forever, because

I'm a good swimmer, I swear. But you never give me the chance to prove it.

Bartender,
I ask for a full glass of the elixir I asked you for before.
Something inside me cries, more then it did before.
Or ever actually
Weeks, and days, turn to hours, minutes, seconds, but still ripple of moments.
Moments that find me back here lusting for the poison that becoming, so becoming.
Maybe im here cause my father craved this chair.
Maybe im here cause he’s seeing my day become D-day, and not just today but everyday, all day and probably tomorrow too.
13 years old, crying for help,
a little boy appeared at his meadow of wisdom,
and all he says is  “have a drink with me”
So I drink, I drink some more, and I drink enough that now the foot of my bed
has become this wooden armrest where I meet a new neighbor by the hour,
My bed pillows have become this poison,
the only feeling that lays my head to rest, battles caged and blurred in routine, battles with the child inside me,
the man now, and everything in-between.

I’ve been depressed all week
But she‘s been too.
She shares her coping methods
And she’s praised and supported.
I share mine and I get a single
“Nice.”

I’m the one willing to take bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To make sure I haven’t drowned
While lifting others so they can breathe.

At this point it’s not even them.
I’m force-feeding words into their mouths
As I watch them go about their lives.

I know that
They’re busy.
They’re tired.
They’re taking a personal day.
They’re working on themselves.
And I understand that.

But whenever
I’m busy,
I’m tired,
I’m taking a personal day,
Or I’m working on myself,
I’m there at the drop of a hat.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that maybe, just maybe
I need help too.

Irrelevant.
The delayed introduction after the
“How have you beens?”
“Fine and yous?”
“I’ve been great, I have this story...”
Minutes pass before I’m even thought of,
And by then I’ve excused myself.

I’m the one that’s taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes.
I’m taking you out and bringing you in
But I can only take so much.

I’m so desperate to be important to someone
That I don’t know how to be important to myself.
Even the saying of “one is sliver and one is gold”
Is unintentionally excluding.
I’m surrounded friends and their golds
But there are so many golds there’s not room for bronze.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that I give more than I take
And that I’ve given away my soul.

A sick feeling in my stomach,
But if I bring it up,
I know you’ll have it worse.
So I swallow my bile
And stretch out a smile.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I’ve made it out
Of the burning building too.

I’ve laid myself out as a doormat.
So why do I complain when people wipe their feet?

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I am
Broken.