The storehouse for my emotions
That stems from the warehouse that is my mind.
When I want to show a brave face to the world, I store them somewhere where I can’t find them.
The bottle can only hold so much until it overflows and the caps goes, flies off into outer space, and things start to spill everywhere. You feel out of place,
Exposed,
Naked,
Vulnerable,
And you’re called “moody” “gloomy” “emotional” or “sensitive” in a sparky tone from people you regarded as your home when you felt alone or
“Emo” my favorite because it’s not pretty to sometimes have teen angst in your twenties is it?
Stigma loves to visit your mind when you can’t hide anymore.
The secret is out,
Perfection and #Goals is not what you’re about
And you’re riddled with doubt.
The bottle busted so you aren’t the role model anymore.
You other ways to cope as that phrase enters your head and follows you to bed if you let it get to you.
The veil is lifted
You find out you’re not that gifted at faking perfection, so the cap flew off.
The cap flew off.
Will they laugh or scoff?
Will they sneeze or cough?
Will hug, push, or pretend they don’t know you and hide in a bush?
What happens when the bottle busts, the cap flies off, and you’re no longer the role model?
The Bottle.

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