BURDEN

I swallowed my stress, depression, and the pain. I swallowed them whole. No chewing. No sound. There’s so much I didn’t talk about. It’s still in my throat. I have no one to rely on. I checked. Twice. I’m very soft, but I get angry easily. Like bruised fruit. That’s how they see me — like I’m a bad person. They don’t see the soft. Only the snap. I carried all the pain I bear from different people. One from him. One from her. One from the silence at the table. I don’t even feel the weight because I’m so used to it. The weight doesn’t sit on my shoulders. It _is_ my shoulders. I reaching out. My hands got tired of coming back empty. I’m just an outsider. I learned the house like a guest learns a hotel. Yes, I don’ I don’t mind because I’m the cause of the problem. That’s what I tell myself. It’s easier than telling them. I feel so good when I’m alone inside my room, locked up. Where nobody is watching. Where the door is a border I control. Where the quiet isn’t empty — it’s mine. I wrote this expressing, explaining to you how I’ve been feeling all these years. I said it all out loud this time. What a relief writing this