The same four walls, I see them everyday
There's a door to the outside
But if I leave I become the prey
Is it my fault the yelling begins?
Is it my fault I don't look that "great?"
I leave and swim but the sharks have fins
If I don't leave my room why do they see it as a phase?
If I don't have their name in my story why am I looked at with disdain?
I keep looking at the walls but start to feel insane
I want to leave, I want to run
I feel my mind tremble and I feel outdone
I just want to get lost because that's what's fun
I wrote this poem because I stay in my room a lot due to anxiety but whenever I leave something is occasionally said about my appearance or I'm not listened to in conversations :/
I find it odd that I'm similar to my bathroom sink
When the lights shine on, the reflection is dull
It'll try to catch everything, a strand of hair, be it brown or gold
But must follow an obligation, so god forbid pink
The hair piles up but the water needs to go down
A responsibility to do so it's forced to go down
I ask for help but told to rethink
When I go back to the drain, the hair becomes wool
"It's useless if it can't function, they oughta be given a scold!
With those worms in their head, they must be sick!
Insecurities, mistakes, failures, and more!"
Criticized even if they've just arrived at the shore
In the pool I think I see mon raison d'etre,
But out goes the hair,
It need to keep working,
Or else it's pushed aside like a crippled mare
A weird/awkward flowing and eccentric poem I didn't know how to revise or fix tbh lol kachow
In the last hour I dealt with a lot
My own definition of why I look dour
Memories I hid six feet under the ground
Came emerging, grasping, and clawing at me 'till I'm found
Saying what's good for me, but my thoughts aren't considered
Ignored by a mother, a father, a neglected child
A child that mimicked Rapunzel locked up in a tower
A child that had gotten their smile devoured
Each day they get thinner, all hopes get hindered
Clouded thoughts, faded scars, and their music gets louder
A habit to cloak emotions, not being able to shed a tear
Refraining from going to beer, avoiding others out of fear
Consolation comes through rose lenses,
A gun held to their head but not packed with powder
I wrote this short poem because the deadlines in my life on top of dealing with emotional trauma and having no time for myself all at once ******.
— The End —