Inexpressive Me

 The INEXPENSIVE Me

How inexpressive I am—
I dialed my best friend’s number,
words stacked behind my teeth like traffic
at a red light I never cross.
I was ready to speak of what haunts me
through silent afternoons.
She believes in me, always has.
But I dressed my pain as something
more beautiful, more digestible—
like a flower trying to mask a scar.
Now it blooms again,
just as painfully.

How inexpressive I am

I hear a lot, what I don't like 

Or do not match my perspective. 

But can't say what I feel right. 

I just fear to hurt others.

Words are precious

I can't use them as a knife.

How inexpressive I am

I say I am ok to everyone

And I am ok too, maybe a few times.

Else thoughts are puzzling my mind. 

Caught up in a never-ending labyrinth.

Away from stars and sunlight.

And if someone asks me why. 

I hide deep inside the walls

That I've built up so high.

How inexpressive I am

When I am alone

I do what I like. 

I speak what I find right. 

But after crossing this circle 

I find no compassion full light. 

It's all dark and cold

Like the area under lamp

Even when the lamp is glowing bright.