where?
"Where?" they asked.
The pain that keeps me awake--
Where? they asked.
My head, I said.
I couldn't tell them it’s the thoughts- spiraling, crashing-
laced with guilt, regret, and anger that won't let me breathe.
Where? they asked.
My eyes, I said.
I couldn’t say it’s because I hold back tears
meant to fall like rain, too afraid to be seen, too proud to be weak,
And now they burn.
They burn behind silence.
Where? they asked.
My mouth, I said.
I couldn’t tell them I keep biting my tongue,
not from habit but survival
swallowing every word that aches to scream,
just to avoid more pain, because saying them might hurt more
than keeping them in.
Where? they asked.
My throat, I said.
I couldn’t say it feels like barbed wire-
emotions coiled so tight they choke me from the inside.
Where? they asked.
My heart, I whisper this time,
but I don’t say
how I grieve things I’ve never had,
how the void grows wider each day -
an abyss, a haunting ache threatening to consume
what’s left of me.
I feel like a mistake,
a regret with a heartbeat.
Where? they asked.
My hands, I said.
They hold on to what begs to be released -
strings meant to break,
until they cut deep enough to scar,
even long after I’ve let go.
Where? they asked.
My stomach, I said.
I couldn’t say I feel sick with worry,
a knot of dread that tightens with every unspoken fear,
threads of anxiety twist with every thought,
nausea brewing in silence,
a sick ache from feeling too much,
and saying too little.
Where? they asked.
My legs, I said.
I couldn’t say I’m stuck, trapped in the same place,
Even when I move, I circle back -
to pain, to patterns,
to places I swore I’d leave behind.
The path to healing calls,
but I stand still,
too tired, too lost, too afraid, as if I don’t believe I deserve it.
