Birds that Would Not Sing

Exhaustion and Anxiety

Exhaustion tiptoes into my bedroom.

My anxious mind picks up on his soft footsteps and reels into a panic state.

“Hello, are you awake?” he inquires gently at my bedside.

“No,” I reply.

I throw a pillow at him to get him to shut up, but then I realize he’s not saying anything.

He merely stands there, waiting for me and my anxiety.

“Fine,” I groan. I toss the sheets over.

He jumps into bed.

I suppose I let him in because I know that he’s the most truthful person between him and I.

I do not know if I already told you,

But I have a bad habit of lying to myself.

“This feels good,” during sex.

“I like that person,” for unhealthy friendships.

“I’ll just keep my mouth shut,” in heated conversations.

I feel caged, trapped

A bird scared into silence by the sound of its own song.

I am often afraid of who I really am

A loud, opinionated girl

An emotional, constantly-feeling girl

An adult girl so scared that she still says “girl” instead of “woman”.

I am often afraid of what I really want

A life of journalism, storytelling, and advocacy-work

A feeling of drive, expression, motivation

If I acknowledge what I really want, I can fail at what I really want.

I am often afraid of where I have really been

A series of not-the-most-consensual sex

An alcoholic boy’s bedroom full of bottle caps and tattered journals

I do not know who my body belongs to.

Exhaustion tiptoes into my bedroom

My anxious chest picks up on his soft footsteps and flutters into a fearful state.

“Hello, are you ready for bed?” he inquires gently at my bedside.

“Yes,” I reply.

I do not throw the pillow like I do in the morning.

His heaviness helps me and anxiety go to sleep.

“Good night,” I groan. I toss the sheets on top of me.

He leaves my bedroom.

He will most likely be back tomorrow, but

I cannot help but wonder if the birds will sing too.