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Broken Record

My brother’s like a broken record.  He tells me about how we used to bike around the neighborhood pretending we were race car drivers, and how we’d gained multiple knee scrapes from turning the curb too fast. He’ll tell me this story twice, thrice, or even four times in a row, and laugh about the good ol’ days. I laugh with him, because though he doesn’t remember that he’s already told me this story for the fourth time in a row, he does remember the fun we had. My brother’s like a broken record, but I don’t mind one bit.

I Should Be Just Fine


What are these emotions

I feel bubbling inside?

I want to express them,

But I’m fearful, so I let them hide.


Sometimes when I express

What I think, what I feel,

I get scolded and brushed off,

And told my pain isn’t real.


I am told that your problems

Are far worse than mine,

And my anger is for nothing

So I should be just fine.


I am told that my anger

Has no basis or place.

So, I must keep a cap on it

To try to save face.


I tell myself my emotions

Are valid despite what you say.

Yet I fear it may not be true,

And my anger doesn’t go away.


If anything, it grows worse

As I hold onto it more dearly

Because the way you told me off

Made me see more clearly


That you are not worthy

Of any emotional honesty

That I want to have,

Because you fear the slightest negativity.


Perhaps you fear “bad” emotions

Because of the trauma you went through.

But just because you had it worse

Doesn’t make my emotions less true.


Just because you had it worse

Doesn’t make me feel better.

Yes, I can be grateful for what I have,

But does that address the matter?


When you choose to respond

So angrily to what I am feeling

It only causes more pain

And disrupts any healing.


It’s clear to me now

I can’t expect too much empathy

From a person who’s hurting

And still needs more therapy.


It’s better to keep things

On the surface level with you

While I dwell on the fact

I can’t be honest with you.


I can find solace

By reading an online forum

Where people who understand me

Show a little more decorum.


I can also find comfort

In writing my thoughts on paper

To give them permanence

So they won’t fade like vapor

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