You say

“This is a safe place.”

So why then,

do I feel so afraid?

So nervous?

So

fearful that at any moment

you will discover what is going on

in the dark depths of my heart.

I am a door.

I long to stay locked.

But you...

You are slowly kicking me open

with your

subtle comments and

heated discussions and

attempts at figuring me out.

And I wonder,

“Who the hell are you?”

Saying that you understand,

that you know some of us went

through some really tough stuff.

Saying that you wish you could help,

but you are just you

and that is all you can offer.

Sometimes I think

“It would all be easier,

if you knew about

the late nights crying

the pills that went into my body

the lack of hope.”

But then I remember,

this is not therapy.

This is English.

We read.

We write.

We do not cry.