is it always this loud,  
         or have i just started     listening?

the air        pulses—  
      not from sound,  
               but from        expectation.  

      what if i forget how to breathe  
            without someone watching?  
     what if i already have?  

the ceiling sweats.  
      the walls lean in.  
           does the room know  
              i’m trying not to fall apart?

my skin        buzzes,  
         not from fear,  
                 but from      waiting for it.  
       for the sharp thing,  
                   the wrong word,  
                        the slow blink that ruins everything.  

why does silence feel like accusation?  
      why do voices sound      like mirrors?

       i blink,  
            and the world repositions—  
       not violently,  
              just enough to unseat me.  

          the chair shifts under my weight.  
     am i too much again?  
                or is it just the thought of being seen  
                         that makes me so?  

every word i speak  
         frays at the edges,  
     like it's trying to escape me mid-sentence.  
            are they still listening?  
                  were they ever?

    my heartbeat stutters—  
         not in fear,  
               but in     anticipation  
                        of fear.  

      there is no danger here.  
            then why does the door  
                 look like a verdict?

i want to ask for help,  
         but the words feel  
                  like spilled glass—  
                         how do you pick them up  
                                 without bleeding?  

         and if i’m always breaking,  
     who would stay long enough  
           to gather the pieces?

        how much of this  
              is just being alive?  
        and how much  
                is whatever i’ve become  
                       while trying to hide it?

     what is the name for this feeling—  
             not drowning,  
                   not burning,  
                        just shaking  
                              beneath still water?


       when does the body  
             stop mistaking its own breath  
                        for danger?