At 8,30pm

This is a spoken word poem xx It started off not being able to breathe. Sitting on your bed, gripping your thighs to remind yourself that a part of being alive is to keep yourself alive. Then came the thoughts, the ideas. The suffocating emotions of whether I loved to live for me or loved to live for the pain. I didn’t want to go to school; I didn’t want to be home. I didn’t want to go out but then didn’t want to return to the dark that was my bedroom. I was drowning and I didn’t know if I cared enough to swim anymore. But I could smile. I think people like smiles. An indication that everything is okay and there is no need to worry; a common mistake. Not the case. I still see myself as 14. It’s weird. I’m still that girl sitting on the shower floor, drawing on her arm. Paint flowing as an interesting deep shade of red. Lines that appear foreign to the average human. Now I’m a bit older but I’m still stuck in the same body. My brain is still my brain. My heart is still my heart. My soul is still my soul. Weathered and grey. Holding itself up by a single walking stick. Wondering how it’s still alive at this age. Wondering how a soul like that is in such a young girl. How has she become this way? But I’m still me. I still can’t breathe. I still have the thoughts; still have the ideas. I still no longer want to be anywhere. I suppose that’s why eternal darkness seems so fitting. You are never anywhere but you are always somewhere. I’m drowning and I don’t know if I want to swim anymore.