and even if the days of crying
yourself to sleep have ended or the nights
are gone when you stayed hidden behind
the safety of the bathroom door, as you
poured out silent sobs that only the walls
knew about, it doesn’t mean the pain left.
Sometimes it means the numbness took
over and you simply don’t feel it the same;
you don’t feel anything at all. But you do.
The numbness is a liar. A mask, just like a
bandage, that can be ripped off as quickly
as you learned to put it on. The defense
mechanism you taught yourself to slip into
when it all became too much. The blanket
you wrapped around yourself when you
grew tired of telling secrets to your pillow
and the bathroom walls knew you better
than you wanted them to. So you tied it all
in a knot and shoved it deep inside where
the pain stays in the dark, but you’ve done
that many times before, pain collector,
and not everything needs light to grow.
But you already know how pain thrives
in the darkest places. It festers wildly,
spreads into a garden where old wounds
feed from you to make new ones, until
you are imploding with the poison of
bottling up your feelings for too long.
Let it out to let it go.
Sometimes you have to make explosions
from your own heart to recognize the
beauty you’ve been hiding for so long.
And no one has to see it as beautiful,
as long as you do.