**((I don’t usually write like this. Let me know what you think or if there’s anything I can improve!))**

They measure me in silence,

watchful eyes behind cold glass,

checking the lines of my mouth,

the stillness of my hands.

I have learned the rules well—

a nod, a breath, a careful blink.

Never too much. Never too little.

Emotion is a privilege, not a right.

Inside, my heart is a clenched fist,

knuckles white with unscreamed rage.

Anger burns beneath my ribs,

but I swallow it whole.

Frustration scratches at my throat,

grief sinks its teeth into my chest,

loneliness coils like a snake in my stomach.

Still, I obey.

Still, I remain neutral.

They speak to me in clipped tones,

sharp words disguised as civility.

Hands on my shoulder—too firm.

Smiles that never reach their eyes.

I nod. I comply. I survive.

Then I see her.

A child no older than five,

face scrunched in confusion,

tears threatening to betray her.

A trembling lip,

a shuddering breath.

She does not yet know how to cage herself.

I see the hand raise—

ready to strike, ready to correct.

The air is thick with silence,

the weight of unspoken rules pressing down.

And something inside me shatters.

I step forward.

I open my mouth.

And I scream.

I scream for every word I have swallowed,

for every tear I have buried,

for every hollowed-out moment of obedience.

I scream until the walls tremble,

until my own body shakes,

until I am empty.

The silence that follows is a blade.

Cold hands seize me.

A verdict passed without trial.

I fall to my knees, breathless, spent.

The little girl stares, wide-eyed, unblinking.

I smile at her—soft, real, full.

A whisper escapes my lips as they close in.

“Feel.”

And then—

nothing.