Unauthorized Feelings

It starts as a hum. Not loud, just there. Like a thought you don’t finish but still feel it stare. Nothing is breaking, nothing is loud, Just the sense that the walls are leaning somehow. I tell myself calm is a learned behavior, That survival looks like being a good translator. Say it softer. Say it right. Don’t make your truth a reason to fight. He says, “I worry,” says, “I just want peace,” But peace feels fragile when it costs me. Why does love need permission slips? Why does safety come with tightened grips? Outside these walls, I sound like myself, Inside, I shove whole thoughts on a shelf. Hope sounds reckless, freedom sounds rude, Independence reads like attitude. I come home and the air feels staged, Every word I said now needs to be gauged. Who did you tell? What did they say? Why are you changing? Why can’t you stay? He says, “You’re confused, you’re reading it wrong,” Says, “I’ve done nothing but hold you along.” And maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m cracked. Maybe this doubt is a flaw I enact. The hum gets louder, overlaps itself, Two narrators fighting over my health. One says escape, one says you’re cruel, Both sound like me, both quote his rules. Am I the problem? Is that the twist? Did I learn control or just call it this? Are these chains real or attention-seeking lies? Is this clarity—or a villain in disguise? Now I’m pacing without choosing to move, Thoughts sprinting ahead with nothing to prove. Every memory edits its own past, Every warning sounds made-up, rehearsed, cast. He pulls me close when I drift too far, Calls it love, calls it “who you are.” Affection arrives exactly on cue, Just enough warmth to make doubt feel rude. My head’s a courtroom with no appeal, Every verdict based on how I feel. If I leave, I’m heartless. If I stay, I’m small. Either way, I’m wrong. Either way, I fall. Now it’s fast. Too fast to track. What if I invented this just to attack? What if he’s right and I’m rewriting facts? What if I’m selfish and calling it trapped? My chest is a siren I can’t shut off, My hands don’t feel like something I’ve got. Am I being pulled—or digging the hole? Is this resistance—or loss of control? I leave and I breathe. I return and I fold. Why does love feel loud and freedom feel cold? Now it’s spinning— Thoughts eat their own tail. The world says pattern. He says you fail. And I don’t know who planted which thought in my head, If I’m waking up—or just deeply misled. What if I’m lying? What if I’m wrong? What if I’m cruel for wanting gone? What if this pain is something I chose? What if the cage is just how I cope? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know the truth. I don’t know if I’m victim or proof. If I run, I’m a traitor. If I stay, I decay. If I speak, I’m ungrateful. If I don’t, I obey. I can’t tell where he ends and where I begin. I can’t tell if this fear is survival or sin. If I’m insane, then this all makes sense. If I’m not— I need to run But my thoughts are too intense.