Cannot

I cannot, not anymore.

I cannot speak, so long

as the world expects me to lie

every time I open my mouth.

I cannot pretend to not feel

Atlas's weight on my own back.

I cannot hold back the lions anymore,

cannot block out their monstrous growls,

cannot slow the stampede of claws on concrete!

I cannot...breathe,

not while I ignore the shape of a sob

that each breath takes coming passed my lips.

I cannot move,

not while I pretend the tremble of my bones

does not catch my eye

and the weight of my limbs

does not bring me to the floor.

I cannot answer one more

"how are you?" with one more

"I'm fine, how are you?"

I cannot answer one more "how are you"

when the world expects me to lie

every time I open my mouth.

I cannot open my mouth,

because silence will come out,

and I cannot explain my silence

without explaining its source.

Are we romanticizing the pain?

Or are we presenting a reality you don't want to hear?

I cannot be looked upon

as the same person I was back then,

because I don't remember her!

Drugs and conversation only do so much

but even then, it is far simpler.

It is simply understanding.

Understanding

that I cannot always get myself out of bed.

Understanding

that a compliment will always be a double-edged sword

dangling over my throat.

Understanding

that pain does not just go away,

not after a lifetime.

Understand me when I say,

none of this is beautiful.

I do not write the words I do

to make you gaze upon my demons in awe.

I write the words I do,

so that you gaze upon them at all.

So that you do not see right through them.

Because I cannot keep begging you

to understand that they are real.