Responsibility

There are so many different parts to me
Yet I feel continual change within
Round in a loop, not staying for long
Woe becomes a spark of joy so easily
Just as normalcy turns to panic
And my joy goes with it
     Not to sing, draw, read, write.
Panic is grief when thought
     How to be well for her?
Do I face it? Do I hide?
     Which will damage her least...
My heart hurts. This is a different kind of dread.
     A fear not for me.
How to uphold my privelage if I subject myself to torment.
Hide it.
For now.