“There is something living in my belly,” I tell her. She looks at me in Horror.
“Oh my god,” she says, “Are you pregnant?”
I think before I answer her question. Yes, I think-
“No,” I say.
I have something living in my belly. It eats all of my happiness, it Devours my smiles.
It feels like a stone, settling and rattling
In my chest and wrapping its tiny fingers around my heart.
“You’re just depressed,” my mother says, “We need to get you involved in more things!”
As if this thing in my belly, this living thing
Will leave if I do volunteer work or join a youth group or a club at
There is no way for me to get it out. It has
Made my stomach into its den, its lair that
I cannot enter. The doors are barred and the windows hold
Signs that read, “You are just depressed.”
It is a child that is made out of broken glass and
Rocks coated in layers of slime and salty water, a creature
That was put inside of me by myself.
I fear to think of what will happen
When I give birth to my depression.
|—||Will it hurt? (via horo)|