to escape as you would think

i don’t even have a place to cry… or think

i don’t want to wake up my roommate while she’s asleep

so i go to a small room with 4 walls, two chairs, a lamp, and i sit

and even when I’m in the room it feels empty

i guess I’m hollow

i don’t dance because there is no rhythm to my heart beat

just anxiety

or nothing

No in-between

No comfort in isolation or solidarity 

What the fuck am i supposed to do

I talk to my self in the shower so everyone or no one can hear me

Is this  cry for help?

Or is this poetry

Is there a difference?

Recently I’ve found that when I speak,

I immediately look at back on what I said and realize i don’t actually believe myself

I wish my words still meant something to me

I wish my words still meant something to me

I am hurting but I pretend like I have no feeling

I’ve always been afraid of vulnerability even though I expect it from other people

I guess I trick myself into believing that I am who I tell others to be

That I am not like you

Goddamn

This is why I don’t like writing

I don’t believe myself

I’ve gained insecurities

I used to be so confident

but on a campus with 40,000 people it’s not as easy to get away from yourself as you would think

to escape as you would think

i don’t even have a place to cry… or think

i don’t want to wake up my roommate while she’s asleep

so i go to a small room with 4 walls, two chairs, a lamp, and i sit

and even when I’m in the room 
it feels empty

April 6th, 2019