Behind My Teeth

Why am I always like this.
Feelings were never my strong point, though I feel them ever so strongly.
Expressing myself has proved to be more difficult to me than for others.
Even when I know what I want and why I am feeling certain emotions.
I can't seem to let the words flow out.
Stuck as if the letters lodged themselves in my esophagus.
My vocal chords left so still not even a choking sound could formed.
So instead, I swallow every unfinished sentence until my chest aches with conversations never spoken.
And I hate it most with you.
Because you hold my hands like something worth keeping, while I stand there guarding pieces of myself you were never trying to take.
I want to tell you everything- the fears, the overthinking, the way my mind turns small misunderstandings into disasters before sunrise.
I want to let you see the parts of me that tremble beneath the surface instead of pretending I am unaffected.
But somewhere along the way, silence became instinct. And even with someone gentle, my heart still reacts like honesty is danger.
You ask me to talk to you, softly, patiently, like you are handing me a key I still don't know how to use.
You tell me you want to understand, that I do not have to carry everything alone, and for a moment I believe you.
But when the feelings finally rise to my throat, they harden there, sharp and unmoving, and all I can offer you are fragments.
Half answers. Forced smiles. Silences stretched too thin.
Then later, when the room is quiet and the conversations are over, I replay every moment in my head wondering why loving you does not make speaking easier.
Because no matter how many times you reach for me with open hands, I still leave you standing outside doors I desperately want to unlock.
And nothing hurts more than knowing I am the one building the distance I cry about at night.
I can see it in your face sometimes- the quiet ache behind your eyes when you ask me what is wrong and I tell you "nothing" with tears already burning in my throat.
You know me well enough to recognize the difference between silence and hiding.
And I know it hurts you, not because you are asking for perfection, not because you expect me to spill every thought at once, but because you love me and I keep shutting the door while you are still standing there trying to knock gently.
I think that is what breaks me most.
Knowing you would stay. Knowing you are trying. Knowing your arms have never once felt unsafe to me, yet I still treat my emotions like wounded animals that need to be hidden away.
I watch the confusion settle into your expression, watch you wonder if you did something wrong, if I trust you, if I even want to let you in at all.
And I want to scream the truth- that it has never been about you.
It is me, fighting a lifetime of instinct that tells me vulnerability is something to survive, not something to share.
So I am sorry.
Sorry for every time you had to love me through clenched teeth and unfinished sentences.
Sorry for the nights you sat beside me trying to understand a war I refused to describe.
You deserved honesty and I gave you silence wrapped in "I'm okay" because I did not know how to hand someone the heavier parts of me.
But please believe me when I say my silence was never a reflection of your love.
If anything, it was the fear of being loved so gently that made me realize how much healing I still had left to do.
And even now, with all these words finally spilling out, I am still learning that letting you in is not the same thing as losing myself.