Every Little Thing

Every step is a chore,
like my legs don't want to move,
like they're children being dragged to school.

Every word drains my energy a little more,
like my lips are glued shut
like each word takes effort.

Every breath is a gust of wind through a closed door,
like my chest is empty,
like my lungs are cardboard.

Every thought is a force pulling me closer to the floor,
like words can break my bones,
like the floor needs a companion and my mind agrees.

Every feeling in my stomach is a piercing at my core,
like I'm not weak enough without it,
like my heart needs yet another reason to fall apart.

Yeah, I'm fine, why do you ask?

Author's Note

Written 6/24/17

Reviews

[Armrose]

A great and engaging poem about the reality of mental illness

[Treble]

Thank you!