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By ADDY PERLMAN | November 29, 2018

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COURTESY OF SHEFALI VIJAY

I wrote a piece.

I was forced to throw it away,

to delete it from my hard drive,

to delete it from my mind.

One hard copy

was all I had,

but my tears made the ink bleed,

just as the folds in my brain do

when I’m told I have to censor myself.

What am I to say

to the ones closest to me

when I just want to heal,

when I just want to accept,

when I just want to forgive?

To know that they are the ones

who told me:

transcend. Transcend and one day

you can reflect. You can share your story.

When is that day?

Do you have an answer of substance,

an answer that is more than:

when you don’t come back here anymore.

So am I to choose

between myself and you?

In a Wonderworks house,

flipped upside down,

my feet tread along the ceiling

as I rake through the thoughts

flooding my head like quicksand.

Sinking me. Further and further.

I turn to you,

but I’m faced with emptiness.

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