You release your words

from your mouth

and deposit them safely into me

placing an abundance

of trust into me.

I carefully collect and examine

everything stored in me;

a library of everyone’s thoughts

weighing down on me.

Word after word,

line after line,

page after page,

I know every book you’ve written,

and I am honored

to be the only person to read

secrets upon secrets

chained deep within me

being restrained every time I speak.

It is a honor for you to trust me,

but did you ever think of asking me?

Stumbling on piles of books

that flood my mind

of your crimes.

Speckled vision as I try to face

the terrors of my own life

that you don’t want to embrace.

Trapped trying to heal

my wounds alone

because you are too selfish to ask:

“How are you?”

“How was your day?”

“Are you okay?”

I return to a library

of jumbled and slurred thoughts,

trying to sort through them all.

I find a home for each of your books

but none of mine.

Nowhere to go,

but day after day

I glue an empty smile

to my superficial face

so you don’t have to worry

about me today

or any day

because for all you know

“I’m okay.”