The walls refuse to utter a word.
No space to argue.
Nothing to interrupt my thoughts.
Just the clock moving slowly,
and the light staying loyal.
The couch remembers my weight.
Nothing here asks me to speak.
I sit bothered by the words left hanging,
their silence heavier than sound.
I fold anger into my hands
and sit on it so it doesn’t spill.
I choose peace without feeling it.
Yet, there’s this space between us,
still asking to be held.
Nancy Atieno's Notes 