You say
“This is a safe place.”
So why then,
do I feel so afraid?
So nervous?
So
fearful that at any moment
you will discover what is going on
in the dark depths of my heart.

I am a door.
I long to stay locked.
But you...

You are slowly kicking me open
with your
subtle comments and
heated discussions and
attempts at figuring me out.

And I wonder,
“Who the hell are you?”
Saying that you understand,
that you know some of us went
through some really tough stuff.
Saying that you wish you could help,
but you are just you
and that is all you can offer.

Sometimes I think
“It would all be easier,
if you knew about
the late nights crying
the pills that went into my body
the lack of hope.”

But then I remember,
this is not therapy.
This is English.
We read.
We write.
We do not cry.