I am Unwell

This is not a poem. I am not sick. It is not. I am unwell. A poem.

Dread is what I feel. Frustration is where it stems from. My plans. My dreams. Destroyed. Disseminated. But it left traces. These traces lives.

It is hard. Life is hard. I have unresolved emotions. I hate myself right now. No, don't touch me. You don't have the right to talk to me like that. I am thankful. I just want to be with myself and cry. Because I want to. Because it's so hard. I don't think I can cope.

I am unwell. No, it's not because of that. It is not caused by that. It was brought along with that, and its cronies and brothers and grandmothers. And I hate it. I hate myself. I hate myself for hating myself. Why? I know why. You don't know why. I know why. I hate hows. Why?

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