Scattered pills and lost dreams

let me tell you all a story about a girl I know. Smart as a whip, keeps her pinky down when she sips and she never sips on tea not made for her. She's beautiful too - and seemingly comfortable in her own skin - and for some we'd perceive that as a win, but winning isn't always winning without some sin and sinning is never done in the open. so she smiles to show the world that she's coping'. If you had to ask her for beauty tips, I'd suggest leaving your cosmetic bag at home because - She Never wears make up, but she draws her smile on every morning using a sponge made of empathy that she dips in other peoples problems, healing them and concealing herself. I like to call her top shelf. because everyone else's issues always gets placed on the shelves she can reach, and she's always in reaching distance and never in subsistence - so her issues gather dust in the way that top shelves do. out of sight, out of mind. yet I think it's important not to make it sound like she is neglecting herself, she dips her fingers into bottles each day and pulls from them little doses of happiness concocted in a lab, she tells me - "I feel like a rat. I'm afraid I'll need these forever." Yet forever is a long time to be pondering on such an endeavor, so I tell her, "never" I find myself wondering what she looks like underneath the pretend - and before I can pretend like I'm not nosy enough to ask, I take a sip of her tea. And I ask her where her mind fleas when she's not on medication - "take your time it's a loaded question, if you need a moment of meditation." but she needs none - which tell me that she spends more time in her fears than like likes to pretend and maybe by this point she can call her demons "friend". she says "Everything is uncomfortable - like I'm a puzzle piece that fits, but not on the right puzzle. Like I'm an opera singer trapped in the body of a dog that's forced to wear a muzzle" She says on days that her bottles lie empty and scattered about the room and happiness is a pipe dream laddered with doom she finds herself not being able to find herself. She says, "I don't feel good enough. Am I enough? Enough for my career, enough for my child, enough for my friends" I ask her, "are you enough for yourself?" because you’ve always been enough for me.

medicatedromantic

"Tell me about yourself" I'm still finding that out still wondering doubting and dreaming like a typhoon of emotions and being creating new life within me. I am not yet born.

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