Nary a chosen spoken word,
conceivably seen as quite absurd.
Relying instead on peace and quiet
to avoid joining the deafening riot.
Not a want to be heard nor seen,
a desire to warrant quarantine.
But down deep, deep inside,
lies the truth, unidentified.
Privacy brings smiles and laughter,
a desire to see a happily ever after.
Talking loud for all to hear,
making it impossible to disappear.
A love to produce a happy feeling.
A tend to heed others incapable of healing.
But, nevertheless, it is here she remains,
trapped inside by the anxiety chains.
Her brain has thoughts,
but her stomach has knots.
So, instead, in silent dishonesty,
she hides behind this stoical travesty.
YOU ARE READING
The Things We Don't Talk About
Poetry***Trigger Warning: Mental health, mental illness, eating disorders, suicidal ideation, self-harm*** A collection of poems delving into the dark side of the human experience. From high highs to low lows, emotion can be intense. And this collection s...
