There are things I can’t speak about.
I want to.
But they stick in my throat and won’t come out.
They are things that were done to me
That stole my innocence
The counselor says What would happen if you just talked about one of them?
I can’t express what would happen.
But it feels like my whole world would explode
And I would disappear with the flying shrapnel
So I say nothing
Walking on a jittery tightrope between
Holding it in forever
And letting it out
Both options are equally painful
Every now and then I try to tell someone who loves me
My best friend
I never do.
The counselor says that talking about it will ease the pain.
I wonder how it would feel and
Sometimes I imagine myself saying them out loud.
In my day dreams they flow off my tongue easily
Like a story I’m telling about someone else.
Only it’s not someone else’s story.
The solitude of this unspoken pain
Is comforting at times.
It’s mine, no one knows, no one can judge
But most of the time it’s crushing
I struggle to breathe
I can’t think
Until I distract myself with other thoughts
Like a child is distracted by a new toy
Or a puppy.
Several years ago I tried to tell my husband
Just one of these things.
I took a deep breath and forced it out
Just a sentence
I waited for the pain to dissipate.
I waited for him to say something.
There was only silence.
Some say that silence is nothing,
But that silence built an impenetrable barrier
That has prevented another sentence from
Ever being spoken about it.
I wonder if I’ll live in this solitude for the rest of my life.
I could live with the pain, but not the loneliness of
Knowing that someone else has sentenced me to this solitude
What was done to my body was
But it was nothing compared to what was done to my soul.