Have you ever being in a situation where your voice echoes back to you inside a glass room but never reaches the door?
That’s is my situation now. My unintentional action may have hurt the most important person in my life. But I can’t make it right. I can’t turn his view around. I speak or try to, but my words fall like feathers in a storm, light, fragile, torn apart before they land. The only words I could utter is ‘’You are wrong about me’’. I repeat it so many times, like it can change anything.
You stand there, holding a version of me I do not recognize. My truth is being painted on by you. I didn’t choose the colors. No matter how hard I stretch my hands, I still couldn’t touch the picture you painted.
My mum once told me never to accept something that isn’t yours. But would it be easier if I just play by your rules? Would it be easier if I just accept the version of me in your heart? Would it be easier if I just play along with your instincts?
It feels like I’m being told to swallow the storm in my chest, but it’s too heavy.
Should I just lock up this book and let you pass it by everyday? It’s heavy with unsaid things.
The truth is that you read me wrong. So wrong that I wish I would just die that see and feel the way you think of me. I’m even beginning to doubt my own reflection. I’m beginning to question the shape of my own truth. It’s the cruelest part.
I don’t feel like I have anyone. Your voice is loud and it’s swallowing mine. I can’t breathe.
I’m still here, pressing my hands against an invisible walls, screaming in a language on my heart remembers. A language only I can speak.
