i talk about leaving in a whisper, like i
shouldn't raise my voice too loud and jolt my
self awake in the process.
in secret, hiding in the corners that you
blocked off in red tape. you dont need
this anymore, you scribble out pieces and
make me look more like you. you dont need
any of this.
you dont need this. you
have me.
behind closed doors, i try to gather my strength
to break down the frame. i press my palms against
the wood and check the lock.
i talk about walking away and my feet are planted. i tell
everyone that i am moving, but they can see my stillness.
what's taking so long? over and over, like an alarm clock
to my sleeping figure, what are you still doing here?
i talk about leaving, but i can't hear it without freezing.
eyes wide and stunned, i can't hear it without trying to
hide inside of myself.
it's just leaving, but i can't stop my voice from wavering.
it's just leaving, but my fists don't make the door budge.
it's just leaving, but it circles around my brain like a fish
trying not to fall down the drain. trying not to break down
the door.
it's just leaving, they tell me,
i am anchored to my pain.
where would i go? i reply.