This load.
Sometimes it takes up all the space in the room.
It sits next to you, follows you around,
refusing to be left behind
until you start believing you’re the only one
barely holding it together.
This load,
It breaks you until pain feels important.
It walks around the room like it owns the place.
For a moment,
You don’t think about the woman laughing next to you.
Maybe it’s a mask.
You brush off the man who asks how you’re doing.
Maybe he needs someone to ask him too.
These smiles we wear like well-ironed clothes.
Clean.
Well put together.
Neatly threaded.
But because your heart is tired and giving out,
because of the long days,
You see this pain as bigger than everyone else’s
until they speak.
Somehow,
this conversation snaps you back.
Some people carry their storms on their backs
like a child learning to sit straight,
but they still show up on time.
Some have learned how to smile because
breaking down
or giving up
is never served on the table.
So you pause for a second
and remind yourself
that everyone is trying to survive the day.
If we look longer,
we’ll realize silence doesn’t always mean peace.
Everyone is wearing something.
Some just learned how to hide it better than others.
May you heal
from what’s breaking you
in silence.
Nancy Atieno's Notes 