I am suffocating. There are people with smiles and sweaters, Asking me questions, judging me, pretending to care. Sitting close around the table, Trapped with no escape; pinned. Looking my tormentor in the face, faking fine. Taking hours to poke and stoke The unyielding heap on my plate. Bubbly mindless chatter -- external. Dread and vile hatred -- internal. My eyes betray my lie and show the truth I hide.
I am suffocating. Under my own weight.
I am suffocating. I am not better.
I am suffocating. I am not thankful for stuffing.
Thanksgiving. A familiar kind of painful, not thankful.