i keep trying to take up less space.

i speak softer

feel quieter

like maybe if i shrink enough, i'll finally be easy to stay for.

i say tomorrow i won't be as loud.

i will not bare my fangs

i won't show my feelings on my face

i'll keep a polite smile.

tomorrow i'll be the type of person everyone likes.

i tell myself people will like me tomorrow.

but the thoughts don't shrink with me.

they press against my chest

like something trying to get out

like something i'm scared to name.

if i could, i would cut the parts out of me that want the most

the parts of me that bleed for softness when i've lost all appetite for it.

and some nights i catch myself searching

not for help

but for something that would make it stop

just for a second.

just enough to breathe.

and that scares me the most

that part of me that still looks for the old ways out

like they were ever really exits.

i would like to sleep.

maybe for a full day

or even a week.

i just want the noise to quiet down.

one day i'll leave this place.

i'll find a place to rest my head;

a soft patch of grass.

but after i die, the world continues

with horrifying confidence.

people laugh in car parks

coffee still brews

morning arrives, the sun rises

as if nothing sacred has been destroyed.