I have always been seen as normal.

I am a healthy adult man who keeps himself well, surely he can’t have problems?

I survived to now, I have a good job, surely he can’t have trauma?

I don’t have scars that are easily seen, tattoos that show my past, or anger that I hold today, surely he can’t have nausea?

How do you explain to someone that bricks remind you of blood?

How do you explain empty sidewalks remind you of home?

How do you explain that the feeling of change in the pocket is comfort?

How do you explain not being scared of the truth, but what you don’t know?

How do you explain that loud noises reminds you of an angry father?

How do you explain that you struggle with the feeling of being alone?

How do you explain that silence isn’t peaceful, but a tool used to silence?

How do you explain that fighting doesn’t scare you, but talking about what hurts makes pain flow?

How do you explain that there is comfort in chaos, and that peace feels abnormal?

How do people see me as normal and without problems, when all I know is broken bones?

Broken plates, broken hands, broken families, broken loves?

You see me as complete, but don’t see the construction I did to keep together this home.

We all come from pain, we all come from loss, let’s stop assuming each other, and instead get to know.

Because even trees work together so they can reap what is sewed.

Maybe we all need to breathe, and help each other learn to let go.