A Beautiful Disaster

call for help: a slam poem

call for help: a slam poem

This is my call for help,

It is a whisper, vanishing in the halls of my home.

It is the scream that escapes my lips when I am home alone.

My calls for help are gagged with cloth, restricting me from speaking.

I've contained myself for many years.

I've pushed all my emotions away and wore nothing but a smile.

No one noticed the dark circles under my eyes.

Or that I spoke quietly because I was so tired.

When people get close to me, they see how damaged I am.

Some try to help me, but others tell me I'm so strong.

I am not strong.

I'm not strong enough to withstand this depression.

I'm not strong enough to fight anxiety.

And I am not strong enough to push away insomnia because I typed this at 2:09 am.

My call for help is a cry in the deafening night.

Sometimes I choke on my words, restricting myself from speaking.

It is as if I were drowning in a tub full of water, unable to escape.

I lack what I think is called emotions.

I am so broken.

So, beaten.

To where I feel numb.

I'm used to people leaving.

I know they can't handle me.

So, I resort to music and reading.

I laugh, smile, cry, and do everything else.

But no one will see or hear...

I call for help.

a.b.