Why is it sometimes I feel alone?
alone in a crowd of people I enjoy.
I can't employ the thoughts to stop.
I often think I am a burden, but where do you come from.
These talking thoughts that do not stop.
Close up the shop of these provoked thoughts.
It comes on suddenly like an itch.
An itch I cannot seem to scratch
It attacks every fiber in my being. I am left seeing.
Nothing. Blind and exposed.
Vulnerable like the naked tides.
Sometimes I want to believe the lies.
That I am not likeable, that I can be minimized like a task no one wants to complete
I can't compete with the chattering.
It's almost like clattering falling dishes. Breaking to pieces.
This is a battle that must be won. A war that must be fought... in my thoughts.
But the very idea of me being liked is laughable
Half able to be a friend.
How can I stand to be close when I don't trust the people, I love the most?
Backstabbed so many times. Now afraid to cross that line.
The line of hope that they won't tie me down in ropes. That the word friend. won't mean. Dead end.
A ghost of what I once was.
I feel like a joke. The punch line long awaited.
And yet hated, the words wrap themselves Like snakes going for the-hill up- battle
Rattle the noises in my head like empty tin cans.
The stretch out of hands makes me cringe.
I am unhinged.
Like a piece of roofing battering in the wind.
I can't rescind from these thoughts
They tick like never ending clocks.
I don't know how to fight off the monsoon of battering voices.
The noises that creep inside my mind next to the screams of who I once was.
I am the empty library long forgotten. I know it's sad but, it's how I feel. Reeling in sadness, it comes like thunderous waves. Sometimes I just can't behave... Everyday ticks past and I feel... less and less.
What will I be when emotions no longer rule me?
Will there be peace? ... a release from the thoughts of doubt?
How about the idea of freedom in my veins? To feel joy, escape my lips.
That I would get high on life.
That syringe wouldn't be filled with cringe.
That music and dance would come from my fingertips.
My garden my flourish... With different thoughts.
The rocks and the rubble would clear away, and sunshine would poke in... That day.
The day when freedom finally bursted through me... That I am simply okay, In this space. Space of quiet ... Is that not what I wanted?
~fin~
YOU ARE READING
Ona Aria's Poetry Collection (2022-2024)
PoetryThe 4th or 5th Poetry book that I have made on here since dealing with life and how I cope with things. Poetry Spoken Word has helped immensely with trying to get out what my soul needs to say. It's been the most therapeutic coping mech that I have.
