The flowers move and I don’t know why, but I can’t feel the wind touching my skin.
When the days are cloudy, I understand them, I relate, but I don’t find comfort.
All I do is think of how beautiful the sunless sky looks, and mostly, of how much of a
mess it’s gonna be when it starts raining and I have to catch the bus.
I get so anxious about stepping into the mud that I stop looking up to enjoy the light.
When it does rain, I don’t reach my hand out of the umbrella, I just run.
Some days the only thing that keeps me in the ground is gravity,
I’m out of the world, zoning out hundred percent of the time, unable to come back.
I hear people talking but I never think their words come in my direction,
so I just give them the ‘What?’ look when they call my name and I suddenly catch it.
I rest my eyes for a few seconds at my desk while waiting for a file to open,
instead of fully joining the conversation at the office.
It’s all like that.
I don’t want to speak to the lady sitting close to me at the doctor’s.
I know they want to get solace but I’m the worst place to try find it.
It’s lost, you know. The power I had when I was five is gone.
I can’t dream big enough not to care about how to get there.
Nor can I fall and wound my knee and stand up with no pain until I see the blood.
I can’t cure my mom’s headaches with just placing my hand on her forehead.
I can’t make my dad’s orange beverage taste good like I used to.
Always wonder when it got like that, when I stopped being a child
and started this bitter young adult journey and even worse,
why exactly did it have to be a bitter young adult journey.
I’m trying, I swear. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m trying.
I said I wanted to regain myself, and sometimes I doubt I’ll get to it,
but I’m trying.
I want to see the flowers bloom someday and feel like them, move with the wind,
stop running from the rain and worrying about the mud.
What does it take? I don’t know anymore.