October 11, 2020
Pressure builds inside my chest
The feeling of despair,
a one-winged being,
trickles its way through my eyes
in the form of tears.
I wipe them away angrily and stare at
my hands, which are clenched into fists.
Why am I so fragile,
so sensitive,
so weak?
Why do I get upset over
the littlest things?
My face feels hot,
a bright red that gives away
just how much I don't want to be doing this right now.
Don't want to be trapped here
while I could be elsewhere.
Thunder pounds outside,
an unwelcome reminder
that I can't be elsewhere.
The rain rolls down the windows in fleets,
blurring my line of vision
to the point where I wish I could just
close my eyes
and forget everything.
My heart aches,
and my lungs ache,
and my body aches
and I want nothing more than to just have someone to ache with,
but I don't.
Besides, even if they could,
no one would want to come over in this storm
anyway.
YOU ARE READING
the moonlit side of reality (a poetry collection)
PoesíaSometimes, when stories aren't enough, I turn to poems. Sometimes, when I set a pen to paper, magic flows out. Sometimes, when I write poetry, something beautiful happens.
