I’m not okay.

Something…

Something broke inside my head.

And I can’t fix it.

I can only bury it under my ruined dreams,

And hope the weight doesn’t break it more.

I can only shove it to the side,

And hope the force doesn’t shatter it more.

I can only suffocate it,

And hope the lack of oxygen doesn’t make it fade away,

Like a dream without fuel.

But it does.

That broken part of me,

It breaks,

It shatters,

It fades.

And I can’t fix it.

But I’m scared of what I’d do

If it _was_ fixed.

Who would I be?

Would I carry this utter wrongness with me,

But not have something to blame it on?

What if I was “fixed”

And nothing changed?

What if that broken part of me

Never existed at all?

What if this is just how life is?

No,

I think I’ll keep that broken bit.