I Can’t Say

I lost something
Something I can’t name, something I can’t say—
A confidence, a possibility, a spunk.
My head, once full of magic and poetry,
Now filled with numbers so long and words so foreign
I can’t say.
They call it growing older, I call it a growing fear of not being enough.
I’ve been conditioned to jump through my own hoops
But somewhere, somehow, I lost something.

I had a voice that wasn’t afraid—
Now, I can’t say.

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Too Hurt to Say

I nodded, too hurt to say how I really felt.
So I smiled, and you smiled—
You understand, right? This isn’t mutual
and I’m just too busy.
(Too busy for your best friend?
Or maybe I wasn’t, but she was to me.)
Sure I do, and now it’s mutual.

You left, but I don’t think you
knew how much it hurt to have that intense trust
tear away from my weary heart.
The door shut and I cried—too hurt to say.