This emotion doesn’t have a name.
It doesn’t have a name because naming it would take away from it.
It’s confusing. Raw. Real. Deep. dark.
It’s abusing.
It doesn’t have a name because naming it would allow you the ability to not truly- feel it.
It’s like loneliness on a summer day.
I want to explain it, but I just won’t ever find the words to say…
it doesn’t have a name because naming it means you have to talk about it.
It’s uninvited and curiosity mixed deep together in a train wreck “can’t help but to watch it” type of way.
This emotion doesn’t have a name.
For if it did, I wouldn’t ever have to say I packed my feelings. And then hid.
Memoir of a mom 