My lungs are heavy.

They are full of water.

I can't breathe.

Help.

I'm drowning.

And I can't swim.

When you look at me I get butterflies,

When you smile my heart gets warm.

You have a beautiful soul

And a heart of gold.

You are a truly amazing person.

You.

When I explain my mental health to people I explain the ocean. I have days where the water is calm and I walk along the sandy beaches letting the smell of salt fill my nostrils and sun warm my skin. I have days with small waves that knock me down but I can still get back up and keep doing. Then I have my days when the waves over take me. Dragging me deeper and deeper into the unknown black abyss that tricks me into feeling warm and safe and causes me to stop fighting because everything around me is too heavy, my lungs are filling up with liquid. Everything becomes numb. I continue to sink to numb to fight my way back up. These days are so overwhelming and I drown on the days. Everyone tells me

"It's okay"

"You'll make it through it"

"Stay positive"

Dont tell me that. On the days that I drown, don't hand me floaties that'll only hold me afloat till the air runs out.

Teach me how to swim.

It starts with a spark

The tinder slowly catches

Control it

Don’t let it out

A small flame emerges

It grows

And grows

And grows

It overtakes you

A small spark

Now a wildfire

Burning you from the inside out

Digging

Prying

Screaming

LET ME OUT

Screaming to destroy everything in sight

It’s crippling

You are surrounded by fire

Put it out in any way possible

“Where did these holes come from?”

“I loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night” ~Sarah Williams

I lay under the willow tree I planted with my mom when I was five, journal sitting open with my lucky pen sitting peacefully on the blank page. I look up through the branches staring at the many tiny white specks twinkling gently in the deep navy sky. Everyone tells me I need to sleep at night because it is unhealthy to sleep during the day. They don’t understand. The night is so peaceful. Waiting for the sun to set and the moon to rise, laying in the cold, damp grass waiting for inspiration to strike. It’s where I belong. When the stars twinkle I imagine them whispering to each other. I wish I could be a star up in the sky shining below.

“Stella, it is time to come in now,” the voice of my dad groggily announces.

I will whisper to the stars tommorrow night.

Here I stand, attempting to see inside my soul through the whites of my eyes. I stand for 1 minute, 2 minutes, 5, 10. I haven't made it past the physical attributes quite yet. I see skin, a pale brown tone fills it with a slight rouge among its cheeks. But on that skin is scars. From acne that ached to be scratched or burns from trying to make the perfect "on fleek" eyebrow. On my skin I see the scars of my insides. The bags under my eyes a slight purple from the insomnia that keeps me up hours into the night. The paths that my tears once took so apparent to me but invisible to everyone else. Lips peeled and bloody from my ever so short nails peeling away with nervousness. When I look in the mirror I see a broken mirror. But the mirror isn't broken. I am.