i was told to open up,
so i did,
just a little.
i peeled back the corner
of something i’d kept quiet
for years.
they smiled,
tilted their head,
asked how long
i’d been “thinking wrong.”
wrong.
as if thoughts were math problems
with a single right answer.
as if feeling too much
is something to be fixed.
they say it’s distorted.
and it’s irrational.
like maybe
if i rewired my brain
to sound more like theirs,
i’d finally be okay.
but this is the only voice
i’ve ever had.
and when it shakes,
when it breaks,
when it screams,
it’s still mine.
they don’t get to label that
a symptom.
if the way i think is wrong,
and the way i feel is worse,
i guess i’m broken, then.