I had grown up with the naive belief

That everyone had this hideous weight pressing on their being

Whether that belief was built by my own clumsy hands

Or cemented by the words I heard repeated over my days, I could not say

But it is a large part of the disconnect I cannot shake most days.

I would stare at the ugly black sludge seeping out of me

And blink at the accusations thrown at my face with an almost aggressive care

The disconnect was a yawning chasm

Opening between my lungs and stealing my breaths, the floors between us crumbling into sand

There is a line I was not aware of before

Do you not carry the things I do?

I walk slowly with arms stuck to my sides

Mouth carefully measured, nor open nor closed

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Just enough to keep the glint of white teeth alive.

My feet dive into something persistent every few steps

And my body teeters with the effort needed for a picture of straight ways

My world moves on a pretense I thought shared

My world moves on a pretense I thought you shared.

Staring at me with curled lips and a storm of something terrible in your eyes

Was your agreement false? Or am I beyond the normal line?

Do you just

Not carry the things I do?

I liken most things to tape most days

The light breeze is but a reason for me to stay home

Carefully tucked under slowly blackening linens

The sound of laughter is a surety pushing down my throat

And the love ringing in my bones

Is merely a reminder of why everything I have

Rings.

There is no escape out of this

There is no room I can enter without the hue of phantoms stealing every light

The smiles will dim, the faces will tighten

And the lines will turn wobbly and hazy under my eyes.

It is my own naivety

It is my own sin

Wanting to be loved

With such a hideous thing.

You do not carry the things I do.

I have been well aware of that.