Feelings, I have so many of them,
They can't escape me.
My chest holds them.
They fight at the bones to break free.
A jumbled up mess is what I would call them
Tangled in a knot so tight that I can't unpick it
Where do they stem from?
So many feelings.
To pin them down is difficult, even though I may hold them in.
They hide deep down
But some tighten, pulling at me.
Tugging me towards anger.
I take it out on the people around me.
I shouldn't, but I do.
It's most definitely not their fault.
Those I love hide at the rage build behind my walls.
Those I love get a glimpse of how I treat myself
The words that play on repeat in my head, only ever told to me.
But the stomping of feet,
The harsh words.
That is what shows.
Unfair.
I know.
But how do I fix these feelings?
As I write this it feels I am not reflecting but deflecting.
Marking as someone elses knot.
Their fault
But it is my own
My own tangle
My own rage.
I vent and I vent but nothing inside changes.
The feeling is still there, the one I felt a year ago maybe two
So much has changed but my feelings still the same.
Still beating at my chest.
Nothing but the tangle tied painfully still as the world keeps turning.
As it should.
As I should.
But I don't.
Because I lay there at night wishing someone would hold me, wanting it.
Wanting me.
"No one wants you" is what whispers in my head.
Is what I started telling myself two years ago
I didn't realise how much it would take ahold of me.
Tying my knot tighter.
I like to think that I hold myself to a high standard but I don't.
Maybe that's why the ****** people stick to me like glue.
Because I don't think I am good enough.
And if you drill it in enough,
The boot starts to fit.
The ****** people stay long enough to make you feel like ****, suprise, surprise.
And get It's crazy to think this all started with feelings
Overthinking
I learnt to expect the worse.
So when things stayed the same
Maybe they weren't so bad
I could live, live with my mum and pretend nothing was wrong
But everything was.
I wasn't living but surviving.
Every piece of string was wrong.
Because the things that happened are wrong.
It conditioned me,
I'm still in fight or flight mode.
It made my mechanism go straight to the worse, thinking,
"No one wants you"
"You are not wanted here, out of place"
"They are just allowing your presence because they are too nice to send you away"
I changed, before the age of finding myself.
I didn't change for he better.
And it all comes back to feelings.
Tangled, twisted into a knot of victimisation and pity
Because that's the only way people listen. Truly.

Music is my peace,
Was my peace,
I'm losing my passion for it,
I hardly had time with it

I'm forcing myself to play,
To glide my fingers over the keys,
So I don't lose the rhythm,
Practiced over two years.

My heart yearns to make a rhythm to sate,
my brain tires bored with the keys.
My fingers stretch with the notes they take,
but my mind is bored with the melodies,
I force myself to make.

I start in D major but I always end in the minor.
See my heart yearns to make,
But my brain tires,
A mix of external factors, so busy.
Thinking.

I try to rhyme, I hope that isn't what a poem needs.
Because the words that I spew aren't naturally Alternating or enclosed

For my words come from the heart and certainly not my brain,
Maybe I will get bored of this too.
I hope not,
Because this is my new peace.

I had a dream that I was powerless,
My hands could do nothing,
cause no harm.

My words were not heard,
No one would listen,
She was standing in front of me,
But none of my words were sinking in, and the man standing beside her was laughing

He got what he wanted.
Her.
And he's laughing at me.
The decisions I made aren't clear anymore.
The choices I made aren't clicking in my head, let alone hers
She isn't mine anymore

Maybe this isn't just a dream.

The words that spew out of my mouth yearn to be heard
To be sympathised with
As the words that flee from my lips print onto paper

These words that come are new to me
I did not know I had them
I'm glad I found them

For the words that are spoken, written
Show how I truly feel,
May the facts be right or not
Some things loud
Fewer quiet
Because the words my brain say crave to be heard
They come from my heart

They come from the place that rarely explains itself.

Maybe it's time for words.

To isolate is to be angry, alone,
But to be angry is too close to violence,
So why not be alone?

Alone is scary,
Alone is losing yourself,
Alone is impossible, but the feeling still there.

Alone and depression are interlinked,
A big word often misused as a funny joke,
That hurts me.
That a state so serious and personal is made into something so unserious.

Depression is a problem that feels impossible to fix,
you know its there,
It pops up from time to time, more often than not.
It eats away at your brain.
Feeding.

You don't know how to fix it,
or if you even can.
The help you need seems obsolete.
It seems impossible to actually follow through.

As in a state of loneliness it is easy to lose yourself.
That's what I found myself doing,
Losing myself.

I've been gone six months now.
I'm still lost.
I'm still looking.

But that feeling keeps on coming back.
More often now,
It's eating away at all of me.
I feel as though it will soon be finished.

But the monster is still there,
Looming, waiting for the next time to strike.

And I will be left,

All alone