Is it me?
is it so hard to see?

My pain, my sorrow
cutting like an arrow.

It wants to show,
to grow, to flow,
but all it can--
is burrow.

Words are spoken,
but they seem broken.
Pieces missing,
but still persisting.

I lay bare.
Only for a puzzled glare.
With every stare,
it gets harder and harder to share.

Maybe hidden is the best way,
for it to fester,
until there's nothing left to say.