“I’m tired”, I say to them, “In my soul, I’m tired.”
“Write...”they say to me.
“I’m at my breaking point. I’m gonna snap.” I say in a voice so intentionally calm.
“You need to start writing again…” they respond.
“I’m not okay…” I toss out with forced apathy.
“It’ll be okay…have you tried writing?” they query back.
I know it’s because they know how much writing means to me, how much it helps. And I know they mean well. I know that they care.
But I want to rage at them incoherently, scream in their faces.
I want to smack them and shake them but I’m stuck in this stasis.
I’m paralyzed in silence - can’t articulate sound or word.
They’re telling me to write and it’s utterly absurd.
Don’t they know if I could, I would write it all down.
Immortalize it in print - every swallowed plea now unbound.
I can’t, I sit frozen and all goes unspoken.
Write…right? It will surely fix all that’s been broken.
-LR 2023
