it's like a wildfire under my skin—
teeth grinding, fists clenched,
a constant thrum of why me, why now, why always.
every glance feels like a dagger,
every silence a scream.
when they ignore me,
it's a thunderstorm pounding in my skull.
when they snap at me for things
they do without a second thought,
i feel my chest collapse inward,
a black hole swallowing what's left
of the patience i never had.
they don't see it—
this inferno that eats at my insides,
this thing i carry everywhere i go.
i can't explain it without being too much,
too angry, too fragile, too needy.
so i keep it in,
shove it down,
until it erupts when i'm alone,
when the walls are the only witnesses
to the shards i throw around the room.
i hate myself for it—
for this endless rage,
for never being enough,
for breaking at the slightest touch.
i hate how every mirror shows a face
i want to smash into nothingness.
i hate how i can't fix this,
how i'm stuck in this cycle of
anger and regret and loathing and repeat.
i hate how i hate.
sometimes i think the silence is the answer.
not just the quiet of a room,
but the kind of silence that swallows you whole,
where there's no sound,
no pain,
no heat of rage burning me alive.
sometimes i think about how easy it would be
to stop fighting this war inside my head.
how sweet it would be
to become a shadow,
to dissolve into the nothing i've always felt.
but even in those thoughts,
the anger finds me—
at myself,
at the world,
at the fact that even ending this
would be another failure.
and so i stay,
consumed,
waiting for the fire to burn itself out.
waiting for something to change.
waiting for nothing.
YOU ARE READING
poems
Poetrypoems i've written. i recommend reading from the bottom of the parts and working up to the first one. i promise they get better and more lengthy. the first few poems are rhyme schemes, the rest are free verse peoms. please don't take without credits...
