How Many Times?

How many times have I written a poetry, a story about how I feel? Something discreet about my emotions, how I feel like something is wrong but I keep on putting it behind, avoiding every bit of it when I can. How many times?

How many times have I cried myself to sleep not knowing how to stop, not knowing exactly why I have been crying. Not knowing why my eyes are about to be gouged by tears. How many times?

How many times have I gone too quiet, afraid to talk. Filled with anxiety that my words would not give justice to my emotions, that my words will not come out as smooth as I want it to be. How many times?

How many times did someone ask me if I was okay, if I am feeling any better? If there’s something wrong? If there’s a problem? How many times?

How many times did I wanted to answer them and explain everything but the answer just never came? That I badly want to explain it to them so they wouldn’t worry. How many times?

How many times did I try to be positive, that I wanted to be bright and optimistic? That I can get through it, how many times did I shoved my problem under my bed, hidden in the closet, a closet filled with all the bones anyone could ever find, in the deepest and darkest of secrets. How many times?

How many times did I let everyone know that I am happy, that I am okay despite everything? How many times did I show them I am so funky, feeling good as if nothing hunts and hurts me, how many times?

How many times that I didn’t want to talk because I’m afraid I would cry. Afraid that you’d think I’m making this up and I am just an attention seeking bitch? How many times?

How many times did I choose to show I am doing just fine when in fact I am hurting and screaming inside. Like a rabbit locked in a very tiny cage beside a scary beast? How many times?

How many times did they judge me and mistook my facial expression, my tone of voice connecting it to an “attitude problem” when they did not know I have a war within and inside myself? How many times?

How many times did I stare blankly on everything because I am trying to gage the reality, I am trying to connect myself to the world even if I am being blown away, carried by a storm. A tornado inside my heart and my head. How many times?

How many more times will I go on like this, how many more damn times should I have to explain this? How many more fucking times will I be judged for it, and how many times will I live like this?

Tell me. Cause I don’t know.

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Published by

Thea

Thea, 26, INFJ (Turbulent) Always interested in other people's opinion on matters, ideas and random thoughts. I mostly keep to myself but I found that writing in this blog is easier than bottling my feelings up. Reading, writing, tea, coffee and wine are my favorite things. You can catch me mostly on twitter and instagram: @xoxthea make sure to say hello! :")

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