"Friends are supposed to tell things like that"
I hear your word ring in my ears.
With the anger they held just moments ago.
Not even said, but seen through your eyes.
"I can't tell, you'll hate me"
My words to you,
in response to your looks of worry,
struggle, and concern.
You say it sarcastically,
you need me to tell you,
or you won't sleep at night,
dreaming up new demons that are hurting me.
"Don't worry about me, I'm a big girl."
I try to reasure you
that I can take care of this problem myself,
that I can work it out on my own.
But I'm reasurring myself too.
"I'm gonna worry anyway, you now that"
You care and you need me to know it,
just as you want to know what it is,
This big secret I'm keeping from you.
I acknowledge the thought,
I don't want to dwell on how I could be hurting you,
I have too much to worry about.
The words shoot too and fro,
but no sounds are made.
Thoughts from one endlessly thinking mind to the next.
"What is this secret?" "I can't tell you!"
It's always been true,
the saying that the guilty will break under silence,
for I speak first.