It starts

behind my teeth

clawing, scratching,

pushing against the walls of my chest.

I want to let it out.

I want to fill the room with it

so loud

so raw

the air shatters

and someone finally hears

me.

But I don’t.

I swallow.

Again.

Again.

Smile. Nod.

“Fine,” I say,

and it curls,

tightens,

a living thing coiled in my ribs.

How long?

I can’t remember a day

without this undercurrent.

A scream with no mouth.

No release.

Just noise.

Does it ever end?

Or does it just…

live here.

Like a shadow

breathing through me,

holding me hostage

in daylight

while everyone else

goes on

as if the air is quiet?

I imagine letting it go,

full, screaming, jagged, broken,

and the world breaks too.

So I hold it.

I carry it.

I carry it.

I carry it.

And the scream

becomes me.