Dark empty rooms can be comforting.

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This poem has more “me” than any of the ones I’ve posted up until now, I wrote this while I was angry and crying and my room was literally dark except for this candle, so I decided to put this very simple picture with it.
I so often feel like throwing up,

everything that I feel and quiet,

all the things that make me curl up

in my  empty dark room,

with the blankets covering my face

all the things that aren’t

“as bad as they could be”

or that are not

“an enough reason to be upset”

as if there was a minimum of madness required

to be able to say you’re in pain.

I’m tired, sick, but mostly tired

I am so tired.

 

I’m in pain, and I’m tired of

“you’re too young to be sad”

or

“it can’t possibly be that bad”

I’m giving all my best to be happy,

to work on and for myself,

but when I need to curl up

in my empty dark room,

with my blanket covering my face

please,

please,

no more

“you’re lucky that’s as bad as it gets!”

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Dark empty rooms can be comforting.

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