Gunpowder

If I’m honest, I’m miserably sad.

This morning, I sang and rejoiced because I must be strong for all the rest,

and it’s sincere, and truly is my very best,

but then I come home,

and just ache deep down inside.

Sometimes well meaning people ask,

“What makes you sad or what happened?”

Nothing happened.

These people just don’t understand.

No, they don’t understand this type of sadness that compresses like layered blankets in the summer.

It’s a slow suffocation of emotions that stuff down the barrel of a cannon as gunpowder.

It’s as if you’re thrashing through water with an anchor tied to your torso.