I lie in my bed, my limbs all flat by my side, eyes shut
I beg for the soft mattress to take me to a place beyond existence,
Ignoring the burning sensation in my chest.
The feeling of being wrong, trapped.

I twist and turn, hoping to find the right position,
Try to make the bed warmer, colder.
All of my efforts to be seen are ignored.
The heavy blankets make me feel trapped.

Nothing feels right.
Nothing I do fixes it.
Nothing changes how I’m seen,
How I feel trapped.

My own flesh having contact with my muscles tortures me,
Anxieties wrapped suffocatingly around my chest,
Compressing my lungs until I can’t catch my breath.
I only sleep when I have no oxygen left,
Nothing to fulfill my body’s need for rest.
Because it’s not right.
Because I am not correct.