I’m tired of people eating my anger like it’s a forgotten candy in the bottom of my grandmother’s handbag.

is it sweet enough for you?

or does it leave a rotten taste in your mouth?

I’m tired of being told

when

what

and how to feel.

I’m tired of the bones in my chest aching in outrage to share the same room as a wrong coffee order.

my brother is getting married without a job, GED, or car.

I can’t finish my meals without feeling guilty.

my church who made a brand out of acceptance kicked me out for who I love.

my grandpa died and I didn’t get to say goodbye.

I can’t hold a conversation with my grandmother because she high every time I see her.

I feel like becoming an adult is just realizing that you will work and work and work till you die.

and it’s raining today. and I hate rainy days.

is that sweet enough for you?