Slam Poetry

Silence

This poem makes zero sense and is more if a confusing, boring, random rant without telling the full story. It makes no sense and there us a lot of repetition but I thought it be fun if it was scrambled a little like a puzzle piece. It also took me a long time to realise what I wanted to say.

Warning-
Self harm
Body image

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There is no knock on the door
Or the window.

There isnt a sound in the night.

Well, almost.

There is a pitter- patter on the hard wood of the emotion left forgotten.

There is a pen scratch to a paper as the artist's ink runs dry.

There is a sad song playing through someone's window, hollow and low.

There is a sob in the corridor, whimpers of ignorance.

There is a shatter of the picture frame of the one you called home.

But to them, it is silence.

This is silence.

I am silence.

I am lone.

But I see their silence- it screams and expresses the loudest of colors. And I am confused.

So open so freely did the color spill from their lips, their eyes, their voice- but why is mine....so silent?

I tried once- to be loud.

The pitter- patter of emotion spilling like a storm, enraged and forlorn. But to no avail.

They all ran to shelter and I left myself standing in my own storm.

Cold.

Silent.

So here I lay tonight and I listen.

There is sad music through the window.

There is a pitter- patter I cannot ignore.

There isnt a sound of a knock on the window.

There are no shutters of my door.

There is no calling of my name and the fear that I'm not fine.

There is not lively to the silence.

There is no note left on the floor.

The corridor is quiet and the cold is left alone.

There is no calm inside the silence.

There is no silence in the storm.

There is no love inside the ice chest but the icecream screams adore.

There is no friendship that i see here on the far side of the screen.

There is no love that he had held for me, not any that I've seen.

There is no care inside this hell hole, there is no where that I call home.

I simply keep on walking, truly I feel lone.

There is a mask to hide the silence, the blood left on the floor.

The weapons that I've found to tear a hole to what is scorned.

Theres no remorse inside the cupboard, there is no reflection in the scale, there is no shutter of the window, or a knock upon the door.

The beats of thunder rumble like the pounding of my chest as the moment felt so simply but I truly felt a mess.

I tore myself to pieces and left myself to unknown, there is no friendship on the far side of the screen, there is no love that he has shown.

There is no strength behind the ages, they no wiser than the sum, there is no home inside the hellhole, truly I am lone.

There isnt a sound within the silence that the world would will to hear.  But the sound it feels so lonely. So lowly it appears.

Of pitter- patter on the hard wood of emotions to a storm.

Of the scribble of the artist's pen the poem left forgotten.

The sobs inside the corridor, the one that makes one feel lone.

There is the sad song that travels lowly through the open window.

The shatter of the broken glass and ripping of the photo.

But in the silence there is just one thing that we will never listen, the things we think we need right then, but truly we were missing.

The buzzing of the cell phone of one we say we lovd.

The rattle of the mail slot to hear the beauty of a note.

The music of an upbeat tune we truly love to sing.

The pitter of a sudden rain which smells like perfect evenings.

But we don't hear, loud and clear, what we wait for in the night....

The knock upon our windowsills and the shutter of our doors.

There is no love inside this hellhole, none that I've seen before.

There is a silence in this prison, one never heard before.

-Kale