The Little Glass

I'm nervous. And I'm scared. I always am. And sometimes I can lock that very intense part of me away. Just forget it for a little while. And then it bursts through the door that I'd locked before. And I do this again, and again, and again. And it drains me. And I gag, but I keep my mouth shut because I think I have to. I feel it though. The gagging reflex. Because that's what happens when I feel nervous, and scared. I get a headache between my brows, and feel like a hoof is holding my forehead down to the ground. I go crazy, and I scream. But it's silent. Because it'd be inappropriate to scream. I scream silently because I don't know what else to do. And I think even if I wanted to make a sound scream, it wouldn't come out. Even if I opened my mouth. Why? Because the chords deep inside my body have learned not to make a peep. I drown internally in the tears that I don't let run down my cheeks. If I'd let them all go, then there might be endless falls coming from my eyes. I get overwhelmed so quickly. I feel like a glass that is always 99.9% full, and I break because I just need that .1% to bring me over the edge. Yes, that's what it is. My glass is not half empty, nor half full. It's overflowing. With both good and bad, because when it comes down to it my emotions are the same regardless of their birthplace. By that I mean, I believe both the positive and negative emotions I hold all add to my glass leading to it's overflow. I'm just a little glass, with too much being poured in.