names: a poem

11 April, 2018

           I don’t want to give this stupid thing
that takes away the things I want to do, a name.
I don’t want to call her,
because I know she’ll just tell me not to set an alarm tomorrow,
I know she’ll tell me not to leave the house.

If you name something, it becomes real.
If I name it then I have to confront it,
then maybe get some help, and maybe
I’m comfortable wallowing in my own lonely because
I haven’t seen anything but for so long and I’m scared
of relapse, scared that I’ll taste a different kind of comfort
and then fall so hard from that feeling.
I don't want happy if it means there will be days that take it away.

If it means I have to come back here after learning how to live a different way.

Of course, maybe that’s just her talking.
Trying to trick me into staying here,
like girl scouts who look at you
with those big eyes after you tell them you don’t want their cookies,
you don’t want what they’re selling, you need the money.
I can’t say yes anymore because I’m too afraid of no.

I need to leave the house, need to speak today.

When I open my mouth the words come out cracked and broken,
and I know that’s what they want.

It’s so easy to just not go back to class,
to watch due dates pass me by,
pretend I have text messages to ignore
But I’m not sick, I’m not sick.


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