Chaotic mind

I am frustration wrapped in skin,

a storm trapped in a body too small to contain it.

And sure, you'll say— some days are good, some days are bad.

But what if every day is bad,

and I only live for the moments that feel like sunlight breaking through a storm?

What if there is no in-between? No grey, just black and white?

What if happiness feels like I can touch the sky,

but sadness drowns me so deep I forget how to breathe?

You don't get it—

I feel everything too much,

ten times more than I should.

And your words—they don't just pass through me,

they carve themselves into my ribs,

etching their weight into my bones,

playing on repeat until they are part of me.

I still hear you say it—

You'd be embarrassed of my scars.

So I keep them hidden,

not because I hate them,

but because I think maybe you do.

And I know—

I need too much, I ask too much.

I need to hear it over and over again

that you're here, that you won't leave,

because I know how this goes.

I know the part of me that will try to push you away,

not because I want to,

but because this fucked-up brain of mine tells me to.

Because love feels like war when you're wired like this,

when every whisper of doubt turns into a scream,

when the fear of losing you is louder than the comfort of having you.

I am chaos, I am ruin,

but I don't want to be.

I take my meds, I go to therapy, I fight—

but there's no cure for a mind that was built like this.

Some days, it's just unbearable,

a pain that isn't just in my head but in my body,

crawling under my skin,

begging for an escape.

And you—

you are my favorite person,

the one thing my mind clings to,

the lighthouse in a sea that wants to swallow me whole.

But the problem with having a favorite person

is that they have the power to wreck you

without even trying.

And you could say something today, or months ago,

and it will stay with me forever,

tattooed onto the inside of my skull,

another echo in a mind that never stops screaming.

I just wish you understood.