the disappointing truth is that i've never really been graceful under pressure under fast-paced circumstances under crushing heartbreak
that behind the sometimes unwavering exterior, almost all the time there is a battlefield inside of me, an aftermath of a calamity, a weeping child
amidst the stillness of the trees, my tears threaten to spill like tidal waves over the brim of my eyelids, my heart contracts to the point of pain, my memories run off to the center stage of my consciousness
that in the instances i appear contained, unperturbed, in the face of disquiet they have been preceded by unannounced visits to comfort rooms to attempt to make peace or to wrestle with my vengeful lover -- my backstabbing friend -- my anxiety