the hurdle so high
I could never clear:
somehow I found
the courage to go for it.

so many questions,
so many questions
seeking an explanation,
justification for my
mental frustration.

none of the ordeals
or events I can recount
actually bother me.

there is nothing
externally wrong.

and I fucking MEAN IT.

I have no excuse,
no reason,
no situation.

why can’t you believe that?

there’s a hell in my head
not because of any death
or loss or heartbreak.

and it feels like the devil got off the couch
‘cause now everyone else is a judge—
how much I eat, how long I even stop at a stop sign—
every fucking thing I do, I feel the pressure
to live up to their standards.

no one ever noticed me before,
but now it feels like all eyes are on me,
like I’m under a microscope,
like my thoughts are amplified.

the heat is on,
and I’m the flask run dry.
the impending consequence…

is what threw me over the hurdle,
and I’m afraid,
you’re the same as everyone else.