that's what they'll call me when they tear me open
and dig down into the deepest place behind my breastbone
out will come all the emotion that had lain blue and glowing and dormant,
gravity forcing it down to something small and densely packed
and totally out-of-commission
the feeling part of me that lies frozen under the ice that flecks my blood,
the coldness that is so strong within me,
will be out and exposed and beautiful
but for now, my fortress of ice and stone and emptiness,
all things unliving, unfeeling,
is who i am,
controls my actions
and there is so little of anything within me
that i have built up my outer shell to hide it
to mask that absence
but i haven't done it very well
and the glaring void still shows through
when i get tired of making the expressions,
pushing up that energy behind my eyes
to look like
i'm there
and here's the terrifying truth:
i smile and react
but i can't feel it
it's just an act
to look normal
to hide the fact
that the world
has taught me
how dangerous
it is to care
empathy is vulnerability
