I break too easily.
crying at nothing,
shattering at everything.

The world calls it
too much,
too loud,
too fragile to be worth holding.

I twist in my own skin,
a mess of nerves,
a storm that never quiets.

Useless, I whisper to myself,
useless as paper in the rain,
melting, tearing,
never strong enough
to carry anything.

Even love cuts its hands on me
and I hate that,
hate that I ruin
what little I’m given.

So I play the part:
the hysterical shadow,
the one who feels too deep,
too wrong,
too endlessly broken.

But still,
under the noise,
I breathe.
Still here.
Even when I don’t know why.

She called me over when her parents left, and invited me over for a date.
Before I was in her room
It was advised to bring some protection.
Latex?

All for her to be done?
————

Latex Gloves.
I pulled out and began scanning my fingers across her room.

At the end of the room :vines.

Vines from trees, flowers emerging through and from. An allergenic smell emitted—carving out the thick toxins as they fell onto the floor like a staircase of crumbling debris.
Like pages of books falling flat onto the floor ill by the plague and far from recovery.

The smell of lavendery-daffodils. Like new laundry, everything was scented in this room, by color and by smell.

No visualization decoded by my eyes all because they were fried.
Red and puffed.

The frequency in the room, making zap-roided sounds.
Electric like all the different shades of blue, a savory sound and a unironic taste.
I would not want to explain because I kept it all to myself.

I marveled at it all and not whatever was in front of me.

I viewed her emotions as inferior to this delight of a room.

Far better than anything sensory she could of course do.

A distraction these walls became
Overwhelming to me was not the best of both worlds.

The only distractions were nothing but this interior design…

Here, men bore infants—  
Banners across the poles.  
A crown he deserves.
The lady must bow!

She works 9 to 5,  
As he stays at home.  
Nine months of scrutiny—  
Bless him! How did he hold?

Give him some space,  
Hold the king high!  
Oh, the cramps he must face—  
Could she ever now?

Give her a veil, for she must cover.  
Oh! He looks after the kids—  
God’s descendant! A throne we must give.

Let him cry, for he feels pain,  
But the lady must not.  
How thick her skull must be!

Give him some space,  
Let her take care of the kids.  
Sick he must be—  
Of all the chores he did!

Ahoy, Utopia!  
Roles reversed,  
Here everything would change—  
For nothing, or for the worse.

Everyone has to live
before knowing the reason why
And everyone has to die
while thriving to stay alive for one more time
The pursuit for happiness all life long
ignoring all the hysterical emotions
Whatever keeps happening
have the hunger for one more
Because whatever may the reason to be
Know that nothing lasts FOREVER!!!

"Where is my child?
Where have you taken her?"
She lays her head across the floor
the carpet oddly cold.
She calls out for help
from the only person
who sees and
understands her completely.
But she herself, the seer,
is crying in a pain of her own

And the woman realized that
the Seer
Was  her reflection

If a man screams at the top of his lungs
He is making is opinion known

If a woman screams at the top of her lungs
She is hysterical

For a woman will never be able to have her opinion known
Because if she screams
She is crazy

But if a man screams
It is normal and that he has the right to be heard

While a woman must be silenced and should not be loud

Sit like a lady and keep your mouth quiet.
Even if you underwent a traumatic event,
No one will believe you so just don't scream

You are a hysterical woman
He is a kind soul who would never touch a woman if she didn't want it.

All this evidence adds up in our minds but in theirs, she is HYSTERICAL.

i scream until my throat hurts
until it feels scratched
by your jagged fingernails

i scream until the pain numbs
and dulls a bit

i scream until i cry

tears uncontrollably streaming down my face