heavy (still here)

she laid a card down on the table and looked me in the eye 

“you don’t think you’re worthy of living” she said 

“I know that” I said

I felt it like claws latched onto my lungs 

that must be what this pain is my chest is 

“you are worthwhile because you are” she said 

“I know that” I said 

I felt it like a breeze beyond a closed window 

I can see it moving, pushing around the branches outside

but my skin is warm, and it’s dry, and it’s untouched

“the other people who are where you are, are they failures?” she asked

my response was an immediate and unwavering “no” 

“but you’re a failure?”

“I see a failure”

I’m no longer in the room with her

not where it matters, not where I’m taking up space 

“the eyes that meet mine in the mirror are the eyes of someone once buried under a crushing weight of potential” I say 

“I was heavy then

not because of what I’ve thrown away

or the lies I tell the ones who love me

I was heavy because the world was open

and it was long

and it was sunny with possibilities

I think I am nocturnal now” 

“the mouth that parts when I brush my teeth is the mouth of someone who sucks in oxygen because it’s in short supply” I say 

“I can’t breathe clean air

it’s curdled by the hunger in my gut

and the knowledge that I’m not taking care of myself

I’m afraid of dying

I think I am a ghost now”

“the jaw that sets when I wipe my face is the jaw of someone who only unmasks in solitude

where  I can pretend I want to be here

I say it to myself over and over —

I am here I am here I am here.

I say it to universe at large and to the gods I hope are listening

I am here, and I am in pain,

and I do not feel seen and loved like I tell strangers I do

when they say I have a nice smile

I think I am frowning now”

and I lied

I do feel seen and loved by those who see and love me

but when I catch a glimpse of myself in passing

I do not see and love that person

I see a child

the world strapped ankle restraints on labeled

“perfect” and “hardworking” and “ambitious” 

I do not want for anything now the way I should want 

and I resent the sunken eyes and shuffling feet

of the adult who grew up and realized potential

is what the world says when they want to make you

something you’re not

I am everything I never thought I’d be 

I am nocturnal 

I am a ghost

I am frowning 

I am heavy

with the self-imposed narrative that I see a failure

when I look in the mirror

and I wake each day with hatred in my throat

that I wouldn’t dare carry for anyone else 

I am free from the grip around my ankles

I should be lighter now, in brightness or in weight 

but I am mostly just lost

and I do not have a plan

I don’t have ambitions

and I don’t work hard in the ways that matter

I sit and stare and imagine better things 

like rainbows and self-worth

I can see my legs in the reflection where I’m laying on the floor

and they haven’t moved toward anything in months

I am still 

“you’re growing” she says 

I’m silent

she tries again 

“this profoundness of soul takes suffering” 

I tell myself I am profound in all my magnitude 

that, like the universe itself,

I am not meant to understand my purpose in its entirety

but I know one thing and that is that 

though I am still, I am here

I am still… here

I am still here. 

10/30/23 6:33pm