Where do the screams go?
The ones that well up like a wave but can’t crash to shore
The ones that rise up in your throat begging to be released but get swallowed instead
Where does the heat go?
The burning of “I can’t” and “how am I supposed to” and “no”
The fire that rises and threatens it all with its no going back
Where does the rage go?
Does it get buried in tissues, festering and collecting?
Does it dissipate in the face of those baby tears and care?
Where’s it all living once you’ve chosen not to say it, chosen not to leave a path of fury and hurt behind you?
Is it calmed by love? Calmed by writing? Bleeding it onto a page to keep the blood off your hands?
Its power and depth are frightening, threatening.
One step, one choice away from destroying it all.
It needs a place, a space.
But where?
