Have You Met My Friends

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 01, 2018

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Submitted: August 01, 2018

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Have you met my friends

 

My feelings have

36 fucking zip codes

 

Each.

 

And at least 17 of them 

Are in the ghetto.

You don't really want to visit them

In the daylight

But if you go at night 

You're definitely going to die

My emotions are sneaky

And shady

Even I don't trust them

 

I find myself ranting

Using words like splendiferous

To describe depression

And referring to my emotions

As postal codes

Going postal on me 

 

Sounding pretentious 

With pretty words

Because the only time 

I sound like 

Myself

And like the things

I say

And think

And feel 

And write

Is when I'm depressed.

 

It's the only me I truly know

I don't know how to be happy

 

I know anxiety

And that's a lot like

Realizing too late your plane is going down and you've really always been a flight risk but you weren't ever ready to fall from the sky.

And your mask doesn't work properly.

 

And all you can think about is everything involving that time in the 10th grade when you were at that restaurant with your boyfriend and his parents and the waitress asked you what dressing you wanted on your salad but your mind went blank and your chest got tight and you couldn't remember words so you answered with the first thing the table behind you said and you had to choke down a salad with marinara on it saying "oh yes Mrs. Hudson I did this once by mistake and now I always eat it this way" and for the next 9 months you had to continue choking down marinara coated salad because it would be weird to just stop now and you've become too invested in this fuck up to admit you fucked up because you didn't prepare for that one scenario along with the 700 that you mentally ran through in your mind before getting dressed for that date. 

 

Anxiety, what a bitch

Anxiety's zip code spreads across 10 counties in my head and has a no-name town hidden in every other emotions designated area. Anxiety is greedy and fights to be the only thing I feel.

As if I could escape it to begin with.

 

Anxiety is depression's abusive husband

Always reminding her that she is weak, and wrong, and saying things like, "sweetheart you're just not classy enough. Grow up, and could you stop being you and be her already? Any her before you would work." 

Like the one that knew anxiety wasn't good enough 

But for her the medications worked. 

She was calm and stable 

But obviously had SOMETHING wrong because she chose anxiety as a partner in the first place and he is a complete douchebag. 

 

But then anxiety tells you that maybe that's because of you and depression lies heavily upon those words wearing them like a suit of armor even though you know that's a fucking character trait part of you will feel guilty because, well, maybe it is you. 

 

Meet depression and anxiety

Oh, I'm sorry.

Meet me, that's what I meant to say…

Me.

The chameleon blending into the crowd

Afraid of being alone

But always feeling alone

 

Faceless.

 

Anxious.

 

Me.

 

I'm a whispered hello with a lump in the throat

I don't want to disturb you, 

But I've really wanted to say hello

But I won't

But in my head we could get along nicely

And even if we couldn't 

Or wouldn't

I'd stick around still

Because I'd be too sad to be alone again

And too afraid to say goodbye

Hello


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