Honesty.

How do you want it?

In the form of my tears,

because I have so many words that they overwhelm me?

Or in my silence?

Because the words have failed me and I no longer know how to string them together

so that you can understand.

This is honesty:

sometimes I have so many words living inside of me that I wish I didn't have any at all.

And sometimes,

they abandon me.

so,

body crumpled on the floor

fists clutching at my chest

I cry out

begging them to come back so I can have some way

some way to release the storm inside of me.

But the words abandon me and i'm left with the weight of

fear

loneliness

anxiety,

and no form of release.

My words turn on me.

The things that once gave me life,

that helped me breathe,

have stolen my breath.

I used to bleed through the pages,

through the pouring of ink.

Now I bleed through the longing

and it's a dark shade of red.

Longing to be free

free to breathe again.