People tell me that I am strong,
for how else could I continue after years of
illness & betrayal?
I survive in pieces.
My emotional reactions
are out of proportion
to any given stimuli;
often paralyzing.
I weigh each circumstance
with fear and suspicion,
even when experience should
teach me otherwise;
yet it’s false negative is itself reinforced
through my inability to achieve
normality.
My scars have faded
yet they are still visible
for any who have an eye for them.
I am not easily gifted.
I should be grateful for any gesture
yet I’ve never learned the trick of it.
In the moment,
when reaction is key,
I falter.
I stumble to correct myself but fail.
Sometimes the struggle is internal
and weighs on me for hours.
Other times my failure comes
to me long after the fact.
Invariably I weep,
though I don’t believe
that anyone has ever witnessed this,
or if they have,
I doubt that they have
interpreted my tears correctly.
My tears are not subjective.
Shame and remorse,
blossoming from my eyes
as I contemplate how I can possibly
thank those who’ve been slighted
by my wounded psyche.
Written by Jason Wright
April 17, 2019