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February

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I’m angry for no reason. I’m mad because I’m weak; falling apart at all ends. I’m mad because all I do is lie on the couch and feel useless, tracing my bruises to see if they’re still there.
I’m angry because all my days feel like a terrible waste, and I know this is not an original feeling but it comes anyway. We’re all clawing at the door but afraid to really see what’s on the other side. So much of what is said translates directly to nothing at all.
I’m upset at everything for being so gray for so long that any hope of spring I’ve had is long gone. I’m sick of almost falling on the ice again and again, to the point that I wish I would just fall already.
I’m angry because there are so many little cuts on my hands that never seem to heal.



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