Somewhere within the pages of my emails, lives a draft of a letter I wrote.

It speaks volumes of depression so loud, no one can hear the girl screaming within wanting nothing more than to be saved

It describes how my legs have grown tired of walking away from situations that leave me too battered to fight

It’s assumed that because the mass of my skin is a larger number, I am capable of upholding the heaviest of troubles

And I’d crumble under mountains of heartache before I let you hear my war cry

I’d drown in the river of my sorrows before I’d ever quench the thirst of the serpent begging to be hydrated only to defeat me

Big girls don’t cry until we are reminded that we are big girls

Love seems attainable until it’s ripped from the core of my spine causing my ribs to collapse into themselves leaving no room to take a breath—

—and now I’m suffocating looking for the same love that ditched my body to come and revive me