My shoulders ache with the weight of the secrets my
Voice cannot find the right sounds to express. It
Has been too long since my lungs have gathered enough air; it’s
Been too long since the air has gathered enough pressure and
Forced the vocal folds in my larynx out of contraction
To make the right vibrations. And so
Silence fills the space between us like fog, blinding us both,
And I feel its wet and heavy presence.
I’m filled to the brim; it weighs me down. Silence is
Too alive for something supposedly non-existent. I’m
Afraid - If Silence is a liar, what does that say about everyone else? Because
To strip down my walls and
Share would be like holding sand - grains always spill out between
My fingers despite all efforts to keep them. I
Struggle not to become a messy explosion of tear-stained cheeks
And shaking hands. And whenever I try speaking,
I feel the resonances in my vocal tract become muddled. I’m
Really beginning to think that it’s a sign, a sign I
Need to untangle them and unload this weight myself. Because I want
Your help but it shouldn't be so selfishly stolen from your grasp.
Help is like a hopeful prayer - only granted when truly needed. And
I don't need help; 'okay' runs in my veins, swirls in my every breath. I've
Lied many times before, but I promise, even though it seems like it,
I’m not lying now. I may feel like I’m
Drowning, the salty ocean replacing the oxygen in my lungs,
And bullying me into a permanent sleep. But
I’m perfectly capable of swimming. Despite how it feels, I’m
Not being tossed to the ground by each tumbling wave, I’m
Okay; I’m floating, and I think I can get to the shore on my own.
(Now, read the first word of each line)
stigma
by Amy Wang