Play pretend: I am a poet.

I have trouble expressing my emotions… which does not mean I can’t write them in a dramatic fashion; rhyme and all.

I wish I could say:
I wrote it for you,
I wrote this for you,
I wrote nothing too.

These words are sharp
and they always stop
between my lungs
for me to choke on.
On my own letters
taking up space,
and pressing hard
against my rib cage.

You might as well have
punctured my heart,
set it all free,
and let them all out;
my lungs could give in,
I could easily drown
on these words unspoken…

… what have you done?

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