POETRY THAT STAYS

Sealed them inside a box

I collected every piece that was hurting and sealed them inside a box. I stored it somewhere inside of me, somewhere I wouldn't be able to see— in a place no one would reach, not even I. I stopped aching right after I left it there.

 I stopped crying. I felt better. I felt the sound fading from the memories, like all the torturous yesterdays are so far away now. That misery could no longer touch me.

 I was starting to be happy again. Like I've accepted the fact that there was nothing I could do but to accept everything: accept the lies I believed, accept the pain I didn't cause anyone, accept the closing doors. 

And at that time, it started to feel bearable again. Like I could almost feel the sun ready to shine again, and I was slowly being repaired. I ran towards healing, but my foot caught on the tip of the box and I stumbled. 

Everything inside it was thrown out, everything I shut off from my mind. Scattered on my floor like a broken glass. And I just sat there crying. Because I realized I've only been ignoring the pain that I almost thought that it doesn't exist anymore. 

That it vanished that very day I locked it in that box, only to find that it stayed there— unopened, but existing. That I carried it every day.

 And that when the box was opened, upon seeing it again, I felt everything like it didn't step outside my heart. Not even a little bit. 

Like it was eating me from the inside and I just learned to stop looking at it. Like I pretended to be okay for a long time to survive the harrowing days. It stayed with me for so long that I mistook it as an organ inside my body. Like that pain always belonged to settle on my bones.