Realization

Dear god, may I ask you a question? How could an angel of yours cause so much tension, a depression, confessions left and right, pursue a fight with no resolution then it just don't sit right. So you bring it up again like it's dinner and you're anorexic, but in this case you were somebody's seconds. Yet you won't take a second to finish, but better yet wash your hands with the situation. Sweep it under the rug and put aside the frustration. Ignore the temptation to fester on it so you put on a smile and pretend it's not eating you inside, but in that moment you're trying so hard you forget to speak. No you can't recall happiness, but steadiness, who needs progress when you're good where you are but you're wrong, because in that moment, you forgot the fact you were never good in the first place, you've just grown accustomed to acting like your heart isn't hurting, that the pain isn't burning, but you won't forget that boy you hang out with that always compliments you, that nurtured you in your time of need, the one who paid attention to you, it's not that hard seeking refuge in a human being and it's not that hard to feel lonely even when you're with someone, and it's not that hard to pretend that you're not. Cause you'll ignore it so hard you forget to breathe and when you choke on air, you'll take a little longer to save yourself because it feels better to be dead sometimes because you figure this stress doesn't come with you to the afterlife, but you stay anyways because you figure the cold nights aren't so bad when you buy a blanket. That maybe you just need to turn up the heat so you ignite an argument and you get angry at her to cover up the fact your angry at yourself, that your peace at mind is dwindling and you're yelling out at this point for forgiveness because you feel as though you failed her but you keep fighting to prove your strong and yelling to make yourself believe your true emotions aren't choking up inside of you and crying to make yourself feel human because you feel like your by yourself on this one. You won't ask your friends cause you think they're tired of hearing, but you've gotten used to being silent, so at this point you stop arguing and you stop trying. You stop yelling and stop crying, and succumb to the fact that you're in turmoil.

This poem is about: 
Me
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