J7

I planted the tree to grow in June

I set myself up for a closed-door

I threw my keys into the river and didn't think about the lock on my hands.

I hear the ominous notes of time passing quicker than I can see it

I think I've found the trouble

In the middle of the night

On my bedroom floor

Crying and pacing

working through the breaking

Ignoring the shaking sobs

and anxiety-ridden doubts

I knew I'd never escape

The pain likes the taste of my hope too much

to let me go quietly.

So I fight and laugh at myself as I trip through ever wire I set for myself

Everything is clear when I think about

Then it all slips away like I threw it in the wind.

I wanted to wake up to a day that didn't make me want to go sleep

People change

I changed

and I feel like I could win

or like it could all slip from my fingers

There are only two ways this could go.

I don't think it's my hands sometimes

and other times I hate myself for wallowing in the pain

Most times I hate myself for ever opening-up to people who don't need the lifelong weight I've been lugging around

Most times I hate myself for everything

Most times I'm on the floor wondering how I'm still alive

Then the rain hits my face and I remember how much I love the smell of the rain

I remember that song I could play on repeat

The one I dance in my room to, pretending I could sing.

Most times I wait for that moment people talk about

where they grew up

and realized how small their problems were

How dramatic they were.

I've realized that so why isn't it gone.

Then the moment hits me where I hate myself for liking the taste of the comfortable. If I could just let go of my chains.

Slip out of the tangles

Breath for the first time in ages and have it just be breathing to me.

The tree in June with its roots wound around my soul would go away.