Image for post
Image for post
pixabay.com

“The words are safe here,”
he said.
So, I poured my heart
out,
told him things even
I didn’t know.

Cried the words
my heart was hiding.
“I’m hurt,” I said.
“I’m afraid,” I said.
“I’m scared of the world.”

I don’t know what
is happening to me
when my chest
goes dark
in daylight.

I don’t know why
I can’t feel the joy
of touching
a fallen, red leaf
anymore.

There was a time
I enjoyed little things
sucked them like a bee
and swallowed
the honey.

Now everything is
tasteless,
can’t choose the scents
or colors
forgot what warmth felt like.

He said,
“The words are safe here.”
Yet, I don’t know
where is safe
for my heart.

Writer of the poetry book “The Anguish of an Oyster”. PhD candidate in Translation Studies at the University of Ottawa. www.ecemyucel.com

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store