Folding in on Itself

I knew it was bad
when you didn’t even have to say it,
when I saw it in your eyes,
when I knew it in the way you folded your arms
and turned away when I spoke.

We don’t deserve this.
Not this silence, not this shrinking,
not this holding back,
not this—
putting our bodies into boxes
with a rusty lock and a key
you throw in the trash.

I feel it now burning,
right here in my chest,
in my throat,
and I can't swallow, can’t breathe,
can’t pretend it's not happening,
that this isn’t happening to me,
to us,
to everyone told
they’re too much,
too little,
or just not
enough.

You were the first to teach me to shrink,
first to tell me the world
wasn't mine to take or stand in.
And now it’s happening again
and you just sit there
like it's something to ignore
while they burn the ground beneath us
and pretend we aren’t choking
on toxic smoke.

You
wore the mask so well
and now can’t even try to hide it—
it's in your voice,
in the way your words don’t even try
to cover your disgust,
your hatred,
for everything I am,
for everything I fight for,
for everything that won’t bend to you.

This world is folding in on itself,
dying in front of us,
and it’s people like you
holding the match.
But I won’t burn with it,
won’t let it take me down,
won’t let you take me down.
 

Not this time,
not again.