That ache that clogs your throat

And makes you wonder

If you would ever be able to swallow

Without stumbling over that lump

That makes it hard to speak clearly.

Makes it hard to be made heard

By anyone who cares to listen.

They say that they care

But it’s what you can do for them

Not what you may need from them.

You speak but your words

Fall onto ears that have been deaf

For as long as you can remember.

You are not an individual.

You are an extension of them which

They can’t control

To their consternation,

But they try

and they try

and they try

Because you are not your own

Until they die.

And even then, you are just a fractured soul

Haunted forever because you were not them.

The greatest gaslighting

Done out of “love”.

I choke on the lump

As my unseasonal rains wash my face,

my body,

my soul.

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