(W)hole

It hurts, doesn’t it?
to carve your thoughts
into your own brain and bones
cause there’s nowhere else
to put them.
No one

to share them with.

Feeling lonely while being loved
is a special kind of torture.

You can’t explain it:
There’s friends and there’s love,
and there’s companionship
in the people around you.

But there’s this ache,
that won’t go away.

No one speaks my same language.

And I’m so tired of translating.

So I talk to myself
and I try to hug my pain
fill the hole in my chest

with my tears and words and art.

A cup of coffee
in the pouring rain.
But it’s still agonizing
to live this way.

ART