Inside there is a swollen
pulsing mass.
It is repulsive.
I am being unkind again.
It is fragile
And I’ve got to keep it all in.
If I leak, horses and men
will do no good.
So I tiptoe around myself.
Hushing shushing shooing
away sound.
When it is quiet
when there is only
me thinking
myself moving
the hurt stops.
I can walk from one room
to another.
Point the tv remote.
Make toast.
A cup of tea.
I forget about the sticky mess
The embarrassing tightness
in my brain.
I cling film my ears
and nose and mouth.
Wrap the thin plastic
around and around.
My head needs to be
swaddled, bandaged.
Only problem is I can’t breathe
and every time I have to
talk to someone
my work is undone
and I feel my skull crack.
The swelling is a simmer.
A bubble.
An eruption.
My brain seeps out of the
transparent bandage.
I’m falling apart.
Spilling over.
There’s just too much
in the world.


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