;

Everything in me was screaming out loud for help

The poetry i write and i say i do it with so much love, between every coma and dot a call for help

Everything in me was pleading people to notice my suffering

The cuts on my wrist, and the impulsive weekly drinking too

Every smile i threw on a stranger’s way, and all the laughters i gave to my friends to borrow

They all were a call for help

I couldn’t dial 911, because what would i say?

This person is severely depressed, and needs immediate help?

Would that be convenient enough for them to come and tell me, that i am too a human

And its okay to ask for love?

Where to go, if the place that was supposed to be home left me Hypothermic.

The arms that were supposed to be the safest

Were the first to plant lavender all over my body

And every definition of love I’ve ever known

Contains violence within.

They say, the second you are born you scream out for breaths

And I’ve been alive for almost 23 years, yet im still screaming out for help

To simply be alive.

I broke myself and scattered my pieces along the way

For them, to finally notice that i am

Made of flesh and bones too

I am, very breakable too

But it feels like im surrounded by blind people, that only hear how loud my laughs are

But cannot see that I’m desperate to be loved too.

To feel loved, is the only way of saving i ever needed.