the vacuum hums,
and i feel it in my chest—
a restless kind of anger,
like a match about to strike.

maybe it’s because the sound
reminds me of yelling,
of my mom’s voice tearing
through the air like it had teeth.
when i hear it now,
i want to scream back,
but there’s no one here to blame.

the only time i can stand it
is when my hands are on the handle,
when i’m in control of the noise.
maybe that’s the metaphor:
it’s not the sound,
but the power to make it stop.

Let's just say
I opened my heart
I would smell the anxiety
Fear
Love
Pain

But I wonder
If anyone else would
But I think not
Because when it was closed
No one cared
Or wondered what's really going on in there

So now what now?
It just gets hurt more easily?
I don't need any more of that

I stitch it back up
Now the air smells of nothing important
Fake smiles
"I'm okay"'s
Covered up opinions
Feelings
Screams

I guess it's better that way

he’s not broken like me,
so i hide my cracks—
afraid he’ll see the light
slipping through.

when i said “i’m fine”
what i meant was “i’m tired”
not of you, but of trying to be
the version of me you could love

when i said “take care”
what i meant was “please stay”
but goodbye is easier when
it doesn’t sound like begging

when you said “i’m sorry”
what you meant was “it’s over”
i caught the silence between your words
the way it wrapped around my throat

and now, when i say nothing
what i mean is everything
i never knew how to tell you
while you were still listening