A Short Poem


They ask me how I feel.

And with a cough I say sick,

Finally feeling free enough to tell the truth.

But what they aren't aware of is that there is another sickness in me that's been lurking for years.

They know about my cough,

But they don't know about the thunder roaring in my mind, telling me I'm not worth their concern.

They know about my runny nose,

But they don't know about the raging river waiting to explode into a waterfall right at my eyes.

They know about my aches,

But they don't know about how my heart is in the middle of a scale 6 earthquake, no matter the circumstances.

They know I'm sick,

For the time being.

But they don't know that I'm never getting better.

surreal poetry
Read next: I Am A Bullet.
Alec Roberts

The perfect example of an entitled, spoiled, and yet still misunderstood teenager all balled up into a cluster of mental illnesses.

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