They talk uncomfortably

about the way things should be

and small-town gossip

and big-world dreams,

after the insanity is ended

and hot-heads still steam,

Cold dinner on a plate

push it with the fork,

still tastes like hate

It’s hard to swallow

when collie-flower tastes

like sorrow;

Push in your chair

and walk up the stair

Your friend walks past and you

smile although

he knows

that the tears are impending

but he’s pretending not to see

the fragile autocracy

of an independent heart

broken to pieces,

fallen apart.

The facade of a grin

and the Everything’s fine

while you’re screaming within

and losing you Mind-

What a curious condition

that only Man can find;

withholding emotion

to shut out assistance

intriguing resistance

to a fight that is not there!

but up you go

to the top of the stair

and tell your family

that you don’t care,

nothing’s the matter

while inside you steadily

become sadder,

and you feel

sick to the core

just thinking about it,

close the bathroom door

(gently as to not make a fuss)

and you make sure it’s secure

before

you start to cry

the weight of the world

took a rest on your chest

and as you cry

you come to realize

you only cry in the bathroom