Why does this always happen?
Here comes the sickness:
A stagnant and still pain
It follows me where I go
I can’t seem to find time,
that is free of any sort of pain
They say though, what is life without suffering?
But I just want to say:

It’s me, isn’t it?
Trapped in this body
enduring the ruins of loss
I am a magnetic field for pain
Because I know it well
Because I’m a caretaker,
at heart
It didn’t stop with mom
It started there, my innate need to save
When all I want to do is live

I think this is living
And sometimes, it feels closer to death
Another part of living that I can’t seem to shake
The constant nearing of loss

Sometimes I feel my needs contradicting themselves
And my words too
Which I have silenced for so long
Because they too are conflicted and inflicted
With pain, with uncertainty, with indifference
And painfully with apathy

I have silenced myself
I have kept silent, stagnant, still
It’s less conflict
It’s less real
(if it isn’t written)
(if it isn’t spoken)
No longer is it fresh
Words so dull they fall off my tongue and collapse
Words that have been so muffled, they look like shapes of words
That once were sentences
And now just lay there
Dead weight that I need to let go of
but I only lay there with no sound

I think I silenced for too long
But I can’t carry the words anymore

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