I choose to be sad and real
Instead of happy but fake
Internally gaslit
So that other people
Are comfortable in their bullshit
While force feeding it
Into my mouth.

It looks like cooking
And waiting for the food
To burn just right.

It feels like being annoyed at roommates
Doing whatever they want and
Not washing a wine glass
That they know you use
And had also drank from.

It sounds like the fire of the stovetop
Burning hotter and hotter
As the depression swallows me up
In its suffocatingly comforting waters.

When the food is done
The leftovers are heated up
And the juice is poured
Into a recycled Pure Leaf tea bottle,
I am just simply being
In my sadness.

I accidentally
Made my roommate’s
Pad fall into the toilet
And all I did
Was wipe off the water
And put it back on the
Medicinal container.

It dried and looks like
Nothing happened.

They won’t know
What had happened.
I mean they aren’t good
With telling me things either.

They’re even worse
With not noticing
When I need someone to
Be there for me.

Sad and real
Is not a trend
A hashtag
Or a movement.

I simply am being
What I am
At this moment,
Even if it means
Doing it alone.