The weight of unspoken words
Some days I feel like an out-of-tune piano,
music threaded through my strings
but never quite sounding right to anyone else.
Some days I feel like a lighthouse in the open ocean,
standing steady in the dark
as ships pass without ever turning toward me.
Some days I feel like a pine tree still green and upright
while everything around me has withered or been cut down,
out of place in my own quiet forest.
Some days I feel like a full mailbox at an abandoned house,
letters waiting to be read
by someone who never comes home.
Some days I feel like an empty kettle,
once boiling with purpose and sound,
now cold metal sitting still on the stove.
And some days,
I don’t feel like anything at all—
just words building inside me
with no place left to go.