“How are you?”

 

I don’t know.

I don’t remember the last time I felt ‘good’.

Is that simply because I cry?

I couldn’t tell you if I knew.

I need a hug.

I need someone to tell me that they understand.

That there’s nothing wrong with me.

You are skating around the real problem and self-proclaiming it is good enough.

Ignoring the gaping hole in between.

While I simply wish someone would be able to see through the many faces I wear.

Is that too much to ask?

Do I have depression, Or is this just how I’m supposed to feel? 

Are my breakdowns panic attacks, or just me unraveling?

Do I want to die, or do I just want to disappear?

Why can’t I just be normal?

Do I know me anymore?

I don’t know what I feel.

I don’t know what I mean.

I don’t know what I have seen.

I don’t know.

     I don’t know.

          I don’t know.

               I don’t know.

I am a withering flower who doesn’t want to constantly be under care yet still wants to be watered.

I want to be put in a vase where I can flourish because they root for me.

But I am dusted under the broom, with all the other knick-knacks the world picks up.

Sweep.

     Sweep.

          Sweep.

 

“I’m good, what about you?”