We don't talk

 

We don't talk.

We don't talk about

the hurt that

makes us want to shout.

We shut it inside.

We lock it down.

 

Stupid male pride.

We hide

when it feels like the world

is grinding to a halt,

when you need to get out

but the door is bolted.

We can’t share our faults

or our desires,

the things that inspire us.

 

Stupid male pride.

Proud of what exactly?

The ability to sit in misery,

staring at the ceiling

watching clouds of thought float nowhere.

Let our tears well up inside

until it finally gets too much.

We don't cry or show pain,

we bottle it up and drink it back down again

 

We don't talk.

We don't talk about our feelings,

when smiles have all taken leave.

Grimacing at all the cards life is dealing.

We don't share,

like asking for help

makes us look weak

and needing someone to care

portrays us as some kind of freak.

 

We just push it down low.

Letting it fester,

acting the clown, the jester.

Until it explodes.

Our happiness corrodes.

Just sticking plasters

holding us together

and they are straining

from the acid blood raining.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

please check out my new book "In Shadows"

https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff 

 

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle