Broken

As you heal

You pick up on all the ways

That others are unhealed

I wish I could say

It's made me more compassionate

I mean

It has

I am more compassionate

And yet

I care less

I feel for every soul

Who's ever felt pain

But I know

That's each and every one of us

And I can't hold everyone

People are looking for answers and solutions

And there are none

Aside from simply loving each other

Which proves to be too hard

When it comes down to it

People say they love

But I'm certain

That no one really knows what it means

Does it mean

To put others before yourself?

Or is that a recipe for destruction?

If it's not that

What is love?

I'm convinced

It's some form of collaboration

Most people struggle to participate in

I don't trust

The ones who bare their soul

Nor do I trust the ones who withhold it

I only trust

Those who can be accountable

Show me you know yourself

Without burdening me

Can you do that?

Can anyone do that?

I see people

Learning to allow themselves to be bruised and broken

And some people

Seem able to hold that

But I can't anymore

I did

Until I began to break

I couldn't hold them

And they couldn't hold me

But children

Children are different

Because they'll break

But they will also pick up their pieces

Watch a child

Navigate adult trauma

No child should ever have to

But sometimes I wish

We were all more like children

Exhausted

The words

Are beginning to bubble

And fester inside of me

Words pushed down and away

For so long

Because I've always been too tired

Too tired of my own brain

To sit with it

For too long

I'm reactionary

I'll have a lot to say

To someone else

But what about all those people

Who just like to talk

To hear the sound of their own voice

They don't seem to know that feeling

Of being sick of yourself

I've been spending too much time

Around young, overconfident women

And I'm exhausted

I can't compete with their energy

Their self-assuredness

I feel myself retreating back into myself

Going back home

Where I'm safe

In my trauma

Ask me a simple question

And I'll tell you

I was a miserable child

I don't have happy memories

My parents weren't there for me

They barely provided for me

I don't like to compare trauma

I don't like to dwell

I don't like to take up too much space at all

I know

That my trauma has made me deep

And perceptive

I know now

I have a lot to offer

But I won't compete for attention

I'm too tired

There is always more to say

And always more ears to hear it

I don't need to push myself to the front

To matter