©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson
You don't understand me,
he said.
No one knows
of the suffering
stored in my soul.
I told him of dark days
I stumbled
and bled,
days when life nearly
swallowed me whole.
But it wasn't the same,
he insisted;
his pain
was unique and mine
could not compare.
My empathy suspect,
my counsel
in vain,
I held back things
I wanted to share.
It bruised me to look
at him,
caught up in
misery, claiming
it all as his own.
He holds the black shadow
so close to
his chest
that he's left
to do battle alone.
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