I’ve been sick lately, (like a real actual thing the doctors just haven’t officially diagnosed me yet.) and I wrote a poem of what I feel like I’m going through. ~~~~~~

It’s just another word to explain my recent problems to why my has been so hard to solve then
Constantly reminding me to keep quiet as the things irritating me choke my throat leaving a rock of a lump in it seeping down to my stomach making a pool big enough to make me avoid others so the won’t hear my tiny screams of anxiety. Of moodiness. Of what should’ve been something I could’ve brushed off the shoulder but no that lump dreams to be a boulder to make it worse. I smile to help people believe I’m not cursed from the sickness. Don’t leave because of the sickness. Those tiny screams still escape from the gaps of my teeth because of the sickness. It’s hard for any one too understand. They think I just have a diabolical plan to ruin every relationship I have. They think it’s something I can control. But no. Words fly around like hummingbirds, it’s body is there for a quick second but it’s meaning to never be seen. Nobody listens to my words lately just catch them without meaning. Getting irritated at them as irritated I feel. I wonder if I’ll every get better. Better as in real conversations with my mom where everything isn’t a one way street of her just talking towards me like I am a brick wall not allowed to speak back. Better as in I could go back to weirdom with my friends and I don’t have to worry about those screams gathering screams and the pulsation of irritation of why don’t you understand my pain. Better as in not worrying about being sick. Sad thing is that this sickness is very real. Physically I’m drained to the very bone, yearning for more stamina to keep going. Emotionally I am I indubitably unstable that i might shatter into enough tiny pieces that no one can build me back up again. I just hope a doctor can diagnose me fast enough so I don’t think I’m on the brink of losing everything.