written out, left in

i want to tell you about the tears that threaten to fall
or that have already fallen.
but somehow each time, i lost the courage and the voice
to speak up just become soundless.

the discomfort that race through
or the bile that threaten to rise up.
It make me regret sometimes ever
doing things, wondering whether
is it better to have hid away
in that shell of mine.

you cannot say i did not tell you about it
i did.
it may have been a passing phrase, a joke,
a unsuspecting question, or a serious heartfelt talk.
whichever it was,
you could not blame me for not saying.