Untitled pt. 2

We speak of it in soft tones,
wrap it in language that suggest we're ready.
We say we're open.
We say we hold space.

But when it came time to bare my truth -
the kind that shakes in the telling -
I was met with silence.
Brushed off.
Told, in ways both loud and quiet,
that I was too much. It was too much.

So I carried it alone.
Again.

Felt it.
Alone.

And after the hollow hurt, after the echo of being unseen -
what comes next?

Redemption.