you wipe off your tears
once again
when they call you downstairs
and you act like you weren’t crying,
as if they’d notice,
they just won’t.
you hug them tight
feeling the same tears almost fall
from your eyes,
but you’re so used to hiding them,
that it feels normal to not show it again,
or yourself,
not ask for help.
keep quiet,
even when you have so much you wanted to say,
but there’s no space for your words,
there’s no space for you.
you’re gonna wake up at night
throw up in silence
and not ask for their help
‘cause you don’t wanna bother.

you’re gonna watch other kids
with their parents
and sometimes think:
“oh, it’s not that bad”,
not that bad is not good enough,
but as much as you wish so,
you can’t change it on your own.