speak up about how i feel; that’s what i was told when i was little.
i was told that my feelings mattered.
i was told that i was loved.
i was told that i was safe.
so, i tell him why i’m feeling down. why i’m hurting. why i’m not able to find happiness right now.
i instantly see his face change; i’ve complicated his day.
now, he’s yelling at me. making sure i know that i’m ungrateful. that i’m wrong. that i have no right to feel like i do.
now, he’s bringing up the past, with clenched fists and gritted teeth.
my head is down, my eyes, through the tears, try to just focus on the ground.
i start apologizing.
the quicker i make him believe i’m sorry, the quicker i make my tone sound happy again, the quicker this can all be done.
i feel embarrassed that i felt how i did in the first place.
now, he’s just mad. i need to make him feel better because i caused all of this in the first place.
i have to make sure he knows it’s not him. it’s me. it’s all me.
i wonder why i said anything; it always ends up like this.
i wonder why i’m not better at keeping it quiet. why do i feel like i need to talk? why can’t i just write? why can’t i just think? why do i feel i need to have a voice?
i hold my head down.
i keep my eyes to the ground.
i apologize, again, for ever saying a thing.
i vow, to myself, to next time stay quiet.
like this time.
this time, i’m doing it right.
this time, i’ve kept the peace.
this time, we can have a good evening without me ruining it all with how i feel inside.