Outside I play my part. Inside I want to scream.
It’s all the little things.
An interruption. A need. Again and again and then…
Wait, what was I trying to remember again?
I can’t block out the noise. An auditory assault.
I know they mean no harm, so the anger turns inward.
I hate that I hate it so much. That I don’t want their touch.
There must be something wrong with me.
So waiting till there are no eyes, I find a place to cry.
Poetry