Quiet Grief
(for the dreams we swallow to stay "grateful")
There was a life I promised myself,
clear, simple, mine.
I still see it sometimes,
just past the edge of my days,
like a door I never got to open.
I don’t talk about it.
Can’t.
People would say “be grateful,
others have it worse”.
So I carry it quiet.
On silent nights it sits on my chest,
the weight of the life I didn’t live,
as heavy as if I had lost it twice.
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