Any and every interaction I have 

is stored for ammunition for the war 

going on inside me.

Whether it be lingering too long in a space that I do not belong 

or the silence in a conversation I did not create 

I will hold on to it for years to come.

When my mind feels like it’s getting a little too quiet

I shoot bullets in the shape of my tongue 

and leave myself with scars the shape of shame. 

I’m still learning how to ceasefire 

how to be comfortable in my own silence 

how to not shoot the messenger 

how to heal when I am the one who did the damage in the first place.