a little book of poetry

Knots

I used to comb my hair one hundred times, in the morning and at night.

I used to straighten it every day to ensure that it looked alright, appealed to another's sight.

I used to. Now, I don't.

Now, there are knots in my hair

Because I don't care who sees them anymore.

I show them off all jagged and worn.

As I stomp stomp stomp down the halls,

Dividing the ocean of people surrounding me from wall to wall,

Whose eyes are all upon me, their mouths moving, whispering, but what about?

There are knots in my stomach now

They are sealed by twist ties

As I hear those whispers around me, the lies.

I am drowning in this sea of people surrounding me.

Now, there is a knot in my tongue.

It is twist-tied, paralyzed.

All the words that were left inside me have died.

As I am being drowned out by this wave of people, lying, conniving.

When suddenly, I spot a rope in the sea.

It is anchored beneath my feet, that weight heavy.

I plot plot plot towards the rope, hoping it can save me,

But it collects in a knot.

Soon enough, it twist-ties around me

In a knot around my neck.