I speak the words repeating in my head, demanding to be spoken, demanding to be read. I open my mouth and sludge spews forth, black tar coating the back of my teeth and I SCREAM.
Inside.
Not out loud.
But the damage is the same. The words are twisted, the meaning lost behind the panic, the frustration, the miscommunication
And I am not heard
And I am not understood
But I AM still her.
I am still the girl with stars in her eyes, even if clouds are blocking the light.
And I am still the girl with fire in her veins even if the disposition feels colder.
And I am still the girl who speaks beauty and passion into existence even as I choke on the bile of anxiety and depression.
I am still her.
I am endless, I am alive, I am suffering, I am pride.
I cry, I persist, I continue to try.
YOU ARE READING
Incongruity
PoetryThis is where I will put my poems about my experiences. I just want somewhere to store them. If they resonate with someone, then I'm glad to have at least been a voice of familiarity in a world that feels so full of solidarity. Also I usually only w...
