I look at my arm and it’s all I see
so I wonder how
in my short sleeves
it’s been three months
and no one sees it.
Sometimes I am glad
it’s shameful, it is.
A mark of broken
proof that I’ve actually lost it
not crazy in the good way, crazy in the scary
But mostly I am confused
I have tried so long not to be invisible anymore
have I failed in this too?
I am lost.
No one sees me and yet I see myself
no one hears me and yet I cry
no one knows my pain and yet it is there, it is real
All my life they’ve warned me
not to dig myself into holes
But holes aren’t so bad
people can throw down a rope
tie around your waist, pull you up.
In a hole you can still see the light.
But I have dug myself
a pit of hell
save the afterthought of a glimmer
that I desperately cling to
praying it’s the end of a rope.