October 13, 2022

 Me.

I don’t have any baby videos of me 

The only thing left about her is me

She grew into me 

And while that feels wrong and feels like I committed a crime 

That’s what happened.

From as long as I can remember I always wanted to help people 

Wether it’s physically, mentally or both

When people were sad I was sad

When she died I cried because he cried.

But being empathetic comes with it’s downside 

I cry too much, I get mad too much, I am too much

People find me weird 

I feel inadequate 

I tell them advice 

I’m just nosy 

I tell them I’m there 

But they really don’t seem to care

So what do I do?

I write it 

I write every word that doesn’t make sense 

I write every feeling that I can’t explain 

I can only visualize it 

I make metaphors over things that are complex 

Because while explaining is a hustle 

Creating something isn’t.

I’ve been gifted with creativity since birth

Hell even my birth was creative, it wasn’t common, it wasn’t exact, it wasn’t even planned

It was spontaneous between two people who didn’t quite fit together 

And where do I fit in all of this?

I just don’t

I don’t fit 

That’s my whole thing.

But in this world where fitting is so important, where organization is key, where being like everyone else is the norm 

It’s not surprising that someone that doesn’t, doesn’t fit 

And while I have so many inner battles over it 

Me and Her talk all night about why, we don’t even seem to fit

I engulfed her even tho we don’t fit together 

And I had no control over it 

I’m sure she wanted her own life, her own pets, her paintings, her own parents, her own brain, her own happiness 

But she is me now 

So what do I do? 

I cry.

Why are you crying over something you have no control over?

You’re being so dramatic? Why are you so depressed? What are you even talking about? Couldn’t you see that it would of never worked anyways? 

The encensent scream of their thoughts is what got me there

That place that for a while became my home

I grew cold, and tired

I grew sad, and “wise”

Because depression became my impression 

Impression of life 

Impression of her

Impression of them

She was the impression that I had of myself too

But she didn’t come alone, no

Because while depression made me feel alone, god save her from being alone herself 

After all, you need an army to build a kingdom 

Anxiety, Depression and Misconceptions came with her 

Depression? She came twice 

No, she just got bigger 

Bigger than one 

Bigger than two 

Bigger than me 

Bigger than you

Depression became who I was, she told me who you are and she sat on her all mighty throne

While I drowned in my sorrow 

My life wasn’t always sad tho

Sometimes I would laugh at this random meme a friend showed me 

Sometimes I would cry at this really cute movie 

But then anxiety would ask me, Is this even really funny? Does this person even like me? Maybe they’re making fun of me? This movie is so silly. Am I even really enjoying myself right now? I wonder if they even think of me? I wonder if they’ll ever miss me?

I grew darker, crooked, lost and alone

At least that what she told me 

Until I met you again 

Her.

She was such a breath of fresh air, not perfectly clean but just enough to make me scream

And laugh, and smile, and giggle, and want to run for a mile

She was funny, and kind, tho she had always seem to be a mile away

I never really saw her until I started walking down this road 

Filled with questions, and tensions, but also with revision, and memories, and wanna be’s, it made me wonder about where I’m going, about what I lost, about what I can gain, about who they were, about who you are then I saw you

Like it was the first time 

You didn’t look at me and smirked 

You walked next to me as if I wasn’t there 

And at first I tho you didn’t care 

But then I tripped and you helped me up 

And then you vanished without leaving a dot.

Then I continued walking trying to find you

Then I saw who you are, at least who you were 

And it made me happy and sad

And them, it even made them mad

But that’s okay, since you’re me 

And you’re all I want to be 

Wounded, but resilient 

Stubborn, but compassionate 

An extroverted introvert 

One who with a bit of rhythm can make a music 

And who’s creativity is a, je peux, sans fin

(Oct. 2022)