I had grown up with the naive belief
That everyone had this hideous weight pressing on their being
Whether that belief was built by my own clumsy hands
Or cemented by the words I heard repeated over my days, I could not say
But it is a large part of the disconnect I cannot shake most days.
I would stare at the ugly black sludge seeping out of me
And blink at the accusations thrown at my face with an almost aggressive care
The disconnect was a yawning chasm
Opening between my lungs and stealing my breaths, the floors between us crumbling into sand
There is a line I was not aware of before
Do you not carry the things I do?
I walk slowly with arms stuck to my sides
Mouth carefully measured, nor open nor closed
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Just enough to keep the glint of white teeth alive.
My feet dive into something persistent every few steps
And my body teeters with the effort needed for a picture of straight ways
My world moves on a pretense I thought shared
My world moves on a pretense I thought you shared.
Staring at me with curled lips and a storm of something terrible in your eyes
Was your agreement false? Or am I beyond the normal line?
Do you just
Not carry the things I do?
I liken most things to tape most days
The light breeze is but a reason for me to stay home
Carefully tucked under slowly blackening linens
The sound of laughter is a surety pushing down my throat
And the love ringing in my bones
Is merely a reminder of why everything I have
Rings.
There is no escape out of this
There is no room I can enter without the hue of phantoms stealing every light
The smiles will dim, the faces will tighten
And the lines will turn wobbly and hazy under my eyes.
It is my own naivety
It is my own sin
Wanting to be loved
With such a hideous thing.
You do not carry the things I do.
I have been well aware of that.