A pressure cooker,
that's what it is,
this life,
this me.

Simmering sorrow,
a low hum
in the chest,
a vibration in the teeth.

Gotta smile though.
Gotta answer the phone,
"Hey, how are you?"
"Fine, just fine, you know, living the dream."

Living the dream?
Whose dream?
Not the one where
tears flow freely.

A cleansing torrent,
washing away the grit
and grime
of forced composure.

No, can't do that.
Too much to handle.
Too many eyes
watching.

Too much responsibility.
Got to keep it together.
Got to.
Must.

Swallowing it down.
The lump in the throat,
the sting behind the eyes,
the earthquake in the gut.

Down, down,
down.
A metallic taste,
a silent scream.

Pretend, pretend,
pretend.
Laugh at the jokes.
Nod in agreement.

Offer solutions.
Be strong.
Be brave.
Be…okay.

But
the cracks are widening,
thin fissures
on a fragile surface.

And I wonder,
how much longer
can I hold
it all in?

How much longer
before the dam breaks?
And will anyone
even notice the flood
when it finally comes?