Cold

In my darkest hours, when I feel already dead I run to you hoping you will hold me and revive my frozen heart.

Hoping you will tell me everything will be okay.

Wishing you will know to remind me my strengths because I've forgotten who I am.

I hope you tell me I'm loved.

I hope you tell me I'm beautiful inside and out.

Instead, you make my issues about you.

You remind me that you are great and deserved to be treated better. You hide those words in soft spoken lies.

When will it be my turn to feel the capacity of my own emotions?

When will I be allowed to pour my heart out instead of being handed a mop and told to clean it up.

When will it be my turn.

I will shut you out of every hole and crack.

I will freeze and be stiff

It's my turn, to be cold.