A Collection of Poems

Lost Words

My anger must be pretty

Dressed up nicely with heels and pearls

For a beauty show

Voice low

Lipstick loud

Polite with sorrys and thank yous

Holding doors open and giving up my seat.

My fear must be present

It's what keeps me alive.

Everywhere I turn are men holding knives

Pointed at my crotch and my breasts and my throat

Sexiness they want with our voice boxes broke.

My sadness should be polite

'But you have a good life

Think of the children

In Africa

Think of the starving children.'

I think of the starving children

My sadness further hollows my stomach

As I gasp for breath in the early hours of the morning

Not quite alive, not quite dead.

My happiness should exist

I tell myself

But it's like reading off a script

Imagining and trying to live a life that's not rich.

My anxiety should not exist

Coiled like a snake between the gaps of my ribs

Anxiety, anxiety, anxiety,

It's all in your head.

Well, yes that's kind of the point.

But my anxiety is another secret I hide under

The painful beating of my panicked heart

And my sweaty hands and my trembling body

and when will my heart stop?

My depression must not consumer me

I am told

As I imagine myself dying whilst walking to school.

I hide my scars and my fears

Under long sleeves and irritated scratching.

I scratch and I bleed, and I hear Death calling me

I turn my head in prayer

My weakness is too much

Please, God, I beg each night

Just kill me, I can't do this anymore, just let me die.

I die everyday in my struggle

Inside my head

But it's not even real

Not matter how hard I wish to be dead.

At the end of the day

My feelings mean nothing

Because I live to serve others.

I turn off my brain.

Static and stutters.