Is often the hardest thing to say.
It takes up so much real estate
In your mind, yet
You’ve become accustomed
To suppressing it,
Brushing it off,
Kicking the can down an endless road,
Only to find that the you’re kicking it
Deeper into your psyche,
Where its taking root
And changing your mental landscape.
And though the words
May never be found on your lips,
They speak loudly through your tone;
Its the frog in your throat,
The chip on your shoulder,
The voice of cynicism
That you’ve come to think as your own.
The thing you most need to say
Will come out
One way or the other
By honest words
Or by subtle deeds.
The choice, then,
Is how you want the world
To hear it.
Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy.