how i hate disappointing you,
the silence that follows,
it screams of failure
that hammer
in my nervous system
sounds the alarm
my younger self, her face
beet red and burning,
insides churning,
hands balled up
in tight little fists.
my younger self rages,
silently turning her pain inward
i am not fooled by
your sugar-coated words
and pious efforts that appear
like some kind of holiness;
they just as quickly
become poisonous quills
i must let go,
for in letting go I am free
it is a double-edged sword,
a delicate balance,
power and sacrifice,
relief and sorrow,
feeling everything
and nothing at all,
often at the same time
i weep for all the things lost,
despite the things gained
my heart is misshapen,
yet a misshapen heart
is better than an
imprisoned one
let me rejoice in
having a heart at all

Photo by Felix Rottmann on Unsplash