I am weak.

Any strength in my life comes from others,

The strength they think I have and their support.

Going through life, I feel like Frankenstein's monster,

I'm held together by figurative stitches.

The stitches are the support people give me,

Telling me they know I can make it through with a hug.

The problem is, these stitches are not permanent;

They're the type that fall out over time.

The longer I go without talking to people,

The more stitches fall out.

During panic attacks, I find myself 

Wrapping my arms around my waist

As if I'm trying to hold myself together.

As the stitches fall out, while moving around,

I can almost feel my body turning to dust

And blowing away.

If everyone stopped believing in me,

I would be left with nothing,

For all my strength is an act.

I am weak.

The End

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