I lay on my bed, quarter to 6.
when I look over the world, I cease to exist.
that world of all beauty and nature and sound.
the trees swaying in the breeze, branches falling to the ground.
my thoughts rule my mind and the things I haven't said
all come weighing down on my beautiful head.
the crowding memories of all the people I've lost, the places I've visited,
and oh, there's a lot.
why am I stubborn against my own acumen?
why am I tender in places I can't mend?
why don't I share the things that keep weighing me down?
because acting perfect is easier than letting myself drown.
so much happens inside me when I want to say it, but don't.