I want to tell you that I’m scared.
That when my head hits the pillow tonight, I will weep –
And I will be met with nightmares,
when I finally drift off to sleep.
But I’m afraid to tell you,
because speaking makes it real,
I’m no longer able to hide or stuff,
the overwhelm that I feel.
I don’t want to need your help,
don’t know how to take your hand –
It seems I’m stuck and slipping further,
waves of grief, now quicksand.
I don’t want to be too much for you,
I’m too much for me,
These demons that haunt my memories,
Are sometimes all I see,
And ignorance is bliss,
while knowledge makes its steal,
leaving unanswered questions –
and wounds too deep to heal.
I want to tell you that I’m angry,
but afraid I’ll fall apart,
it takes every ounce of my energy,
to hold the pieces of my heart.
And if I let go and feel this depth,
what if I hit the bottom –
and what if when I’m fully exposed
is when I get forgotten.
Too worried that you’ll drop me,
so I find a way to rise,
and when defenses start to crack,
I can’t look into your eyes.
For seeing is connecting,
within my gut, a pit –
the love I long to hold me,
I’m terrified of it.
I want to tell you that I’m scared,
but I don’t want you to see –
the weak, lonely, terrried child,
desperate to be free.