one day it all made sense,

why my emotions felt like a rollercoaster,

why I could be feeling on top of the world one moment

and then rock bottom the next,



a disease of the mind, a flippant diagnosis,

something that I laughed off,

I couldn't be,

right?



'It's not true', I whispered as I hit enter,

'It can't be true', I said as I read more and more,

'No', I muttered as I felt dread thread its cold fingers along my scalp.



Up and down and up and down,

for the rest of my life,

not hormones,

not womanhood,



A disease.

there is something
ugly,

about being born in
the dark,

no home, no purpose,
just this ever aching feeling
that you are something more
even though the world tells you
that you are ordinary,

you have no answers,
no one to give them to you,
because nothing is really known,
just something we made up to
cope.

we had to give things meanings,
names, purpose,

humans have an incessant need to
find where they belong,

maybe it did that on purpose,
blinded us from the start,
limited our knowledge,
limited our understanding,
threw us in this place where
anything can happen,
just to see what would
transpire.

Something so ugly, so cruel, and yet,
I understand, and I love it.

I am my own to mold.