Trigger warning for mention of self harm related thoughts in this poem.
Near to shattering is how I feel
only I may have split apart long ago.
Trauma so deep that I simply shattered
and here I am nearly twenty years later
levitating outside my body, watching
only unable to stop folding up the
napkin in my hand in a desperate
effort to ground myself. I feel like this is
obvious, how can no one see that I’m sliding
towards a total breakdown? How close to
harming myself do I need to go? How many
inclines in my mind do I need to climb to be
seen as deeply hurting? Falling asleep brings
razors of fear; what if I don’t wake up in my bed,
or what if I do become violent as the media says I will?
Alone is how I feel, even though I know I’m not the only one
dealing with this, can I have a fucking guidebook on dissociation?