A hand waves before my eyes,
soft and gentle,
pulling me back from the blur.
"Hello? Anyone there?"
Their voice, kind and warm.
"Mhm, yeah," I murmur,
as if I hadn't just been drowning in my own mind.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, just tired."
But "tired" isn't enough
for the weight I carry,
for the days that blur together
until I lose myself in the rush.
My head spins,
thoughts pulling tight like tangled strings,
one task after another,
no pause, no breath, no room to stop.
I wonder-
how long before the cracks show,
before I stop saying "just tired"
and admit-
I'm falling apart?
YOU ARE READING
Trapped in my own head
PoetryShe is an outcast. She finds it easier to express what she feels in the form of writing. Whether it is poems, letters or long texts. These are poems that she writes trying to describe how it feels to live with certain mental health issues, in a worl...
