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Am I allowed to hurt?

Am I allowed to say what nobody wants to hear?
The things that conflict me and confuse me? Am I allowed to?
Because frankly, I’m scared to.
And I know that it bores you.
But my mind is rewinding and my heart is on pause
close to overheating since I can’t say what’s wrong
And I can’t find the words that make up–whatever this is–
‘Cause there’s wall in my body
and it’s made of 10 ton bricks.
It’s just, I don’t know.
My mouth is a coward.
And I don’t know when my thoughts should stay inward or outward.
And since I don’t have permission quite yet,
I’ll stay quiet. Because from the looks of your judgments
I’m not allowed to fight it.

Am I allowed to cry?

Am I allowed to lose it? Because once it comes out
I don’t think I can stop it.
My home tells me they’re healing waters
but my masters say they’re shameful.
My heart has no part in this going-nowhere battle.
Because crying is weakness; crying is mortar.
When will tears become an in-between, just water?
Because pain just is,
And pain just hurts.
Am I allowed to feel without feeling remorse?
Give me permission, or at least a letter,
Or perhaps just a writer and sender.
Because I’m tired, and weak, but no one is witness.
No one will know how much I’m allowed to miss this.

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