Question Mark

Growing up suppression became normal 
Depression became an accessory 
And life was as malleable as clay.

Genuinely I began to question my purpose
Whether or not I really deserve this
And what significance I really had.

It would seem normal to look back
And think "I'm in a better place now"
But truthfully I am just more tolerant.

Things that used to push me to the ground as a kid
Now just make me shrug
But the bullets shot today run straight through me, but eventually won't.

If only I could express what I'm feeling
To anyone, even myself
It would release such a weight on my chest.

A weight now growing for 19 years
Getting heavier and heavier by the second
Suffocating me till I explode.

But what should I do?
When will I be better?
Why me?

It's hard to explain how I truly feel
A simple punctuation mark should suffice
To put it in easier words...

A question mark.