Boil boil, toil and trouble.

Words seem to mean less to the people who you want them to mean the most to.

I can tell you all of the constant pain that I feel.

Or the fact that I have no idea what to do about any of it.

And if it's truly all or nothing, I can't say anything at all. 

After I degrade myself a little longer, pressure sets in.

My soul is raging in a cardboard box taped down with fear. 

Fear of the slightest feather of judgement. 

Facing it in the mirror cut holes so deep they gape into me.

I know I can't let you see that...

But I also know that you wouldn't care. 

In your eyes, I look perfectely whole. 

The pain that makes me so gruesome doesn't, never has, and won't exist.

The shaky breathes aren't from running so far from 

all of the wolves that hide in my clothes. 

Maybe this is what I want though the feeling of unease is nauseating. 

The internal roller coaster and flip that my heart does all the time. 

All of the murmurs held back in the caldron of my mind come to a fore front and halt.

I feel everything well up like the tears in my eyes before I blink them away. 

But that does almost nothing.

I feel everything jump into my throat and choke me so that

oxygen is the metaphor. 

And in a flash it's gone until it comes right back.

The thick feeling of rage in my soul is astounding.

It isn't and won't be anger. 

It is raw pain that I feel just as often as I breathe. 

Solid on the inhale and shaky and unsure on the exhale. 

At some point the ball of yearn in my stomach with unravel and so will I. 

After ripping through so many layers of resolve, 

everything comes together like a car crash.

A beautiful mess clashing together and showing you all of 

the things that I slid deep into my pockets. 

The internal caldron that kept the score committed an act of betrayal,

burned to a rolling boil of breathlessness, 

and spilled over like a gossip girl's lips.

As I suffocate with the aftermath, 

I realize that none of this mattere in the first place because 

you wouldn't have cared no matter how it poured out of me.

Yanked, tugged, ripped out of me were the things that you thought were wrong.

As right as you were, there are so much more. 

Human Dignity + Comassion = Peace.