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Disturbed
I hate that one word
That’s constantly spat at me
It gets down deep
And I start to hate myself again
It hurts so much
Coming from the ones I love
It makes me think
I wonder why I even bother
Okay, so maybe I am “disturbed”
So what?
My poems aren’t “disturbing”
Hell no they’re not
The way I feel “disturbs” you?
What do you think it’s like for me?
You don’t have to go through everyday
Feeling so “disturbed”
Maybe I do need “help”
Then again, maybe so do you
