Every year I wait for this day to come
I constantly think about it
And I force myself into a depressed state
But I cover it with a laugh and a smile.
I've come to accept it.
This is my reality
And it's been long enough
That I've eventually gotten used to it.
I've gotten through it.
But not over it.
So I try and distract myself.
"Mind over matter" as they say. For me that means:
'If I think of something else,
Then the matter at hand will be forgotten'.
But if I don't think about it
Does that mean it doesn't matter?
Of course it does.
It means everything.
And I know that
At the end of the day
When I run out of mental preoccupations
The emotions that I've been hiding and ignoring
Will come full force
In a flood of tears.
And I will realize that perhaps I'm not used to it,
If I've thought about it
And I suppose I haven't gotten through it,
If I've spent 11 years