Pillowtalk

Why...

Why....

Why is my pain something you flinch at?
Why does my need for silence make you uncomfortable?
Why is my suffering... so easy for you to dismiss?

I was on fire—screaming, cracking, falling apart—
and all you cared about was the smell.
You blamed me for the smoke.
....she's overreacting - you said

I don’t understand.
Why am I not allowed to be messy? Loud? Lost?
Why can’t I be reckless, make mistakes, act my age?

Why are your flaws just “human,” but mine are offensive?

I am human too.
This is my first time doing this—
this life, this pain, this trying-to-make-sense-of-anything.
I'm doing the best I can.
I’m not some seasoned soul with answers tucked in her back pocket.
I am fumbling, scared, overwhelmed.
And still—still—I’m trying.

I’m trying so hard my bones ache.

But why does it feel like only you are allowed to fall apart
without being punished for it?
Why you... and not me?