Halcyon

overdramatic

you say i'm being overdramatic,
and i think i know it too.
trusting your voice is
fog in a familiar room.
i became a footnote in my own memory,
silence learned your language faster than i did.
my voice practiced being agreeable,
the truth started asking for permission,
my memory crumbled into ashes,
like a witness under pressure,
but wait, i might just be overdramatic.

your words concealed the knife,
but a golden needle is a needle.
"you're remembering it wrong", am i?
vacuuming a crime scene
until it looks untouched,
but the blame is all mine to keep,
i shrank to your version of events,
your kindness felt instructional,
my notes were rewritten
in neater handwriting,
but wait, i might just be overdramatic.

can power imbalance be masked as guidance?
does clarity always come with disclaimers?
how can you fight a clock that insists it's right?
no you can't, so i just say, i misunderstood.
my thoughts learned to stifle a silent scream,
when did love turn into a classroom where
i was always the wrong answer?
bureaucratic barbarity with a bewitching beam,
i learned a practiced grin for 'i was just joking'
'are you imagining things?'
'i never said that'
but wait, i might just be overdramatic.

ending a sentence with a smile,
like punctuation on my soul,
oh, is that what we are resorting to now?
thinning certainty and softening voice,
am i allowed to feel this way?
preemptive perception plastered,
with a splashy selfishness,
'i'm being honest. you're overexaggerating.'
oh no, am i doing it again?
but wait, i might just be overdramatic.

by the time I noticed,
i was asking permission to remember.
even when your calm turned louder than my panic,
nothing ever felt wrong enough to leave,
but wait, it might just be the overdramatic me.