I can feel the walls cracking,
Breaking,
The dam leaking.
It is being held
By plywood and duct tape.
The cracks are growing larger,
More and more keeps spilling out,
I keep promising myself
One more crack
Then I’ll get help.
The dam ruptures a bit more,
I make a new promise.
And another one,
And another one.
It’s not that bad,
Not really.
I make the final promise,
‘Only when the dam breaks completely’.
Am I scared of help?
Or how people will look at me,
With their dams fully intact?
When it breaks,
Can it be fixed?
Can it be fixed now?
I sit
Distracting myself,
Maybe if I pretend it’s not cracking
It won’t,
If I believe it won’t break
Then it won’t,
And then the scariest thought comes
What if I want it to?
