i have grown tired, of trying to prove you wrong. when you are grey and oppressive, your hands bearing down on my shoulders like a fog. i have grown tired of being right, and tired of being wrong. tired of screaming, and crying, and taking deep breaths to calm down. trying to justify the stars in the sky, or the freckles on my chin. i have grown tired of being sweet, and empathetic, and all the things i pride myself on; worn down all bloody. until there’s just centrifugal force left to hold me together, honestly. maybe i just need to be alone. and hit my pillow, again and again. because it doesn’t make sense, and nothing makes sense. so i fill my brain with knowledge, but it slips like a sieve. have you ever tried to cup water in your hands? i think you have to see to believe. and i can feel the sharp words, sinking like thorns in my tongue. but if you ask, i’ve still got nothing to say.