the truth,
it terrifies me
i tell myself
to write it down
in my little palace of a mind.

my thoughts lurk
in the back of my mind
along with my feelings
hidden in some drawer.

i hide them
like i easily hide myself
i'm always afraid
like i'm afraid of myself.

i'm afraid i will become a monster
one that doesn't care
and destroys everything in its path.

so i hide it
with my feelings
and my thoughts
and myself.

the monster hides in the closet,
thoughts and feelings shoved in drawers.
as for i?
i am like a ghost,
lurking by the curtains of a tiny window.

outside the window
it's always night
with specks of light
trying to break through the dark.
specks of light
i could never reach.

i tried once,
a part of me
shot for the stars.
it missed, landing on a cloud instead.
i barely see it these days
coming and passing me by
on especially dark days.

it used to stay
in my notebooks
filling the pages
in a messy kind of neat scrawl
and art
that i wish i kept.
it stayed on my bookshelf of memories
but it was a bit different,
because it's hard to dream of the future
while your past weighs you down.

there's a knocking on my door,
and i peek out of my curtain.
a kindly face smiles at me
walking in,
she sits on my bed.
mental health, is what she calls herself
but i never got a doctor for my 'mental' health.

she comes in the mornings,
5 days a week.
she smiles
and she makes me feel sleepy.

"one more day?"
she asks me,
and i nod slowly.

she hands me a pen and paper
and leaves somewhere.

she knows very well
i don't use the paper or pen
but i guess
it comforts her
knowing i'm doing some sort of thing.

the day wears on,
i feel weary,
but i promised one more day.

i hear myself call from outside the door.
"what the hell?!"
it yells louder this time.

i'm afraid too,
i don't know why i do what i do.
i'm sad i've never seen the face for the voice,
but we both know well
monsters don't always stay in the closet.

i hear other whispers outside my door,
whispering about a test
telling myself not to cry.

i hear light knocks
on the wall behind me
and i dare not look out the window and down.

i hear tapping overlap the knocks
but it's all very quiet--
i'm sure even the monster in the closet
is afraid of it.
of them.

depression and anxiety.

it's everyday i hear them
but they never seem to enter.
they don't need to either;
they know me well enough.

there were days before them,
days before knocks and taps
seemed to dictate my life.
days before my checkups in the morning.
sitting on the top of my memories bookshelf,
in an unreachable space
is what my feelings called
'the good old days'
and i wish i could read those books.

i then hear
light instrumentals
with murmurs of words
my dreams reach for.

this is when
i want to walk outside
the knocking grows louder
and i'm afraid again.

there are more whispers outside my door,
and a voice of mine yelling.

i focus on the music outside my window.

slowly closing my eyes,
i fade into the curtain
and wait
for tomorrow
which will be the same today.