I don't want help.
Though I thank you for it, it does nothing for me.
You tell me things I cannot do, missions I cannot achieve.
Give me a list of ways to fix myself,
All of which are told to me out of kindness.
But I'm not a list follower,
And your ideas aren't new.
Your words of help are designed to pull me higher than the flowers, trees, and clouds.
They're meant to raise me up and make me stronger.
But you've forgotten a crucial element:
I am not on the ground.
I am under the soil beneath you,
You're telling me to fly when I can barely stand.
So, next time,
I hope you'll simply offer me your hand and lie.
Tell me that it'll be okay,
That I'm strong enough to land on my feet again.
I know you only want what's best for me,
But I don't want the best.
I want to survive.
I'm clawing through the dirt and pebbles, listening to you teach me how to glide.
Before you help me, save me.
To me, they are no longer one and the same.
Build my confidence before you build my wings,
Or I will fall again.
So, don't tell me that it's easy when you're already in the air,
And don't tell me that I'm broken.
I know I'm broken.
You don't have to fix me.
Please, find me first.