Untitled

Untitled (Because I Wasn’t Allowed to Finish My Sentence)

I start with “I feel"

and someone else finishes it for me.

You ask why I keep things to myself—

but I ask,

have you ever listened to me?

EVER?

Every time I try to share,

I'm cut.

My words have now learned

to swallow themselves,

quietly.

Reflex, not resistance.

And sometimes,

I wonder—

if I truly needed you,

would you still do this to me?

Sometimes I feel

it would hurt less

to have a knife strike my throat

than to watch

your eyes roll

every time I try to speak.

                   REBELLIOUS SOUL.