When my mom poured me a cup of coffee
I grabbed the sugar from the cabinet
And the milk from the fridge
When she drove me to school
Playing all of my favorite songs
I did not sing
I did not tap my fingers or feet
I did not skip over the songs I did not want to hear.
"What's wrong?" She asked.
With more urgency than needed
Because to her
Silence means chaos
Because in eighth grade I kept a journal
Every love note
Every crazy new song I'd discovered
Went in it
I had to tell someone
When they found the journal
My mother cried and my dad told me to suck it up.
That I had a “damn good life”.
I said anything to get out of that room.
"Nothing. Just tired."