They talk uncomfortably
about the way things should be
and small-town gossip
and big-world dreams,
after the insanity is ended
and hot-heads still steam,
Cold dinner on a plate
push it with the fork,
still tastes like hate
It’s hard to swallow
when collie-flower tastes
like sorrow;
Push in your chair
and walk up the stair
Your friend walks past and you
smile although
he knows
that the tears are impending
but he’s pretending not to see
the fragile autocracy
of an independent heart
broken to pieces,
fallen apart.
The facade of a grin
and the Everything’s fine
while you’re screaming within
and losing you Mind-
What a curious condition
that only Man can find;
withholding emotion
to shut out assistance
intriguing resistance
to a fight that is not there!
but up you go
to the top of the stair
and tell your family
that you don’t care,
nothing’s the matter
while inside you steadily
become sadder,
and you feel
sick to the core
just thinking about it,
close the bathroom door
(gently as to not make a fuss)
and you make sure it’s secure
before
you start to cry
the weight of the world
took a rest on your chest
and as you cry
you come to realize
you only cry in the bathroom