The Act of Being Broken

But who asks the real questions anymore?
Who ever comes up and asks how I'm doing without having to send it through text.
Who ever sits and tries to continue a deep conversation about love, life, and hardship.
Who?

Why, why is it so hard to look at someone in the eyes-like movie scenes-and talk about the things that hurt. And don't tell me "because it only happens in movies"-when before everyone hid behind a device to talk about how they felt, it used to happen then too.

How sad is it that I wanted to be hugged instead of told through text, "I wish I was there." Where everyone would rather not cry in front of others, I wanted to show my true emotions about how I felt, the pain I carried, the love I had.

But we have seen those as attention-seeking or annoying to have face-to-face.
I know because when I asked to be hugged, I was told I was lying about my pain. When I pleaded for help, I was told I was annoying. I was bullied for the pain I had felt, as if I was not allowed to feel my pain.

People tell me now, "How tough you must be!" To keep quiet all these years and smile all this time.

No, rather, how broken I must be-to have never been able to say a thing without the belief of being annoying. Without the belief of having someone listen without thinking "how fake this pain must be". Not how tough, never how tough-I am destroyed beyond belief, waiting to be born again.