"i'm okay,"  i whispered, my therapist tapping her foot against the rugged floor as she listened, "really, i'm fine," a forced grin was spread across my face. it was so obvious it was fake.

it was so obvious that i was screaming for help.

"you don't seem to be," she hummed, leaning her back against the chair she sat in. her hands folded into one another against her knee, her head tilting to the side as my grin slowly faded.

"i'm okay," i repeated, monotone and expressionless. she nodded in response, unfolding her hands and sketching cursive into her small notepad.

"or at least, i'm trying to be," i wrote into my own lines, finding myself a crying disaster in the corner of my bed.

i never meant to hurt anyone, especially myself.

i'm sorry, mother.

and father, you were right about what you said;
i should've never been born.

look at what you've created God.
look at what you've done.