You tell me how to feel—
like my emotions are a puzzle
you think you can solve with your words,
a script you expect me to follow.

“Don’t be angry,”
you say,
“it’s not worth it.”
But how do you know
what’s worth it to me?
How do you decide
what’s too much
and what’s not enough?

You tell me to smile,
to stop worrying,
like my heart is a switch
you can flick off.
But inside,
it’s a storm,
and you stand there,
telling me it’s all in my head,
that I’m too sensitive
for my own good.

You don’t know the weight
I carry—
the things I’ve swallowed
in silence,
the pieces of me
I’ve hidden away.
But you still try
to pull me out,
saying I’m sinking,
when you’ve never seen
the depth.

You think you can fix it,
control it,
as if my emotions are yours to command.
But you don’t understand—
they’re mine,
mine to feel,
mine to own.

So stop telling me how to feel.
Let me feel
without your rules,
without your judgments,
just me—
unfiltered,
alive.