i bleed

I don’t wish to be a poet. I write not for others to read, but for me, to 'feel' me. Does that make sense? Ha! I don’t even care. I just bleed ink like other poets do. But I don’t have their drive. I only have emotions. Emotions they once called “numb”. “Like AI” they said. I didn’t even know what to feel when they said that. Because if they went inside my brain, they’d see whirlwinds. Storms of overthinking spinning faster than sense. And if they looked in my heart, they’d find a fragile child crying over stupid things.. whether big or small. I 'feel'. More deeply than they think. More than I can show. Sometimes, more than I can bear. But I hold it in. Not because I want to, but because I’m scared. Scared to be seen. Scared to be hurt.