My opinion doesn’t matter
It’s what I tell myself
My way of seeing the world
Is best left on the shelf
It’s my job in life it seems
To let others have their say
My discoveries, my deductions
Will only get in the way
There are bubbles all around me
That could pop if I even tried
But what would I do with the broken bubbles
And the ones who lived inside
© Ruby Neumann
Poet's Note: Written March 24, 2023
I woke up feeling something and realized that there are often no fixes to those feelings. I wish I didn't feel responsible in maintaining the bubbles all around me, at great cost to my own understanding. Nothing I find valuable in this world has gone unnoticed and even unpublished. But those voices don't seem not threatening to the bubbles flying around me. I feel that only I have the pin that can burst them, so my silence feels like a better choice than being authentic. This is a painful place to live. I wish the love I get from the bubble dwellers would be enough. Sometimes it isn't. I understand the value of most of those bubbles to the survival of the indwellers. It is why I bite my tongue so much. It's not enough for me to say, "This is how I see the world.". I don't trust it's enough for them. I would rather hurt than cause them pain. I just don't know if that is love.
