Prena Poetry

i had 4 slices of bread washed down with half a glass of tap water. it’s 2am, i am not even that hungry but i keep getting that feeling of being something like a quicksand. the more i try to move around, talk with someone or get things done, i am still sinking.

you know, there is actually one point when you stop struggling so hard, you begin to float. and all your worries shrink for the tiniest fraction of a second. but what if all my life i have only known to punish myself to be worthy of achieving something in my hands. i have seen my family work their skin off to bones to be who they are today, and then some nights there is a mountain of guilt standing next to my bed—constantly chanting that i don’t deserve this privilege. maybe, in some ways, it is the fear that if not for the functioning trauma and hard work to make myself stronger—there is no other thing that defines me.

i have forgotten how vulnerability feels like.