Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Fiona Jun 25
i want to stop
checking my body,
wiggling the door ****,
counting the fatalities,
searching my symptoms,
and asking for reassurance.

i want to be able to leave,
not doubting
that i turned the straightener off,
that i shut the toilet lid,
that i locked the door.

i want to be able to sleep at night
without tapping
the doorknob
to make sure it's locked,
or else someone will break in.

i don't want to
be scared
when i see the number 13,
or be unable to
wear a certain sweater
without the fear of being sick.

but instead of staying habitual
i have become avoidant.
Fiona May 7
We are nothing without the Earth,
But Earth is complete without us.
Fiona May 7
You make me sick.
Defying the truth
And congratulating
The deaths.
You’ve ignored the signs
And said it’s ******* fine.

How many more will it take,
Until you’ll actually care?
Bodies will pile
Beneath your feet,
But the real killer
Is their blindness.

They consume every word,
Bow to their knees and blow you,
Violently risking safety
And hitting freedom in the face.
Since when was it
The American Way
To **** security?

I have no sympathy for them,
The ones who claim
An article of clothing is oppression.
Their guns will be fine;
No one’s taking them away.
But there’s another killer
Who could infect their cells,
But they don’t care.
Fiona Apr 29
I’ve never laid eyes on you before.
But I’ve felt you.
I’ve felt your rumble,
bellowing against the walls
of my house.
And I’ve heard you.
Your lonely howl
sighing against the small window.
And you’ve taken away my sight;
The way you ****
light out of a house,
a deep cry filling the air.
Yet the worst is
that even in the dark,
I can smell you;
toxic fumes billowing
in the humid air.
& As you came at night,
the only sign of you
was your roar,
the shattering of wood,
and each light
dropping in the city.
You may be beautiful,
but you left behind
violent demolition.
Easter Sunday.
Fiona Feb 7
I don’t know what you are,
where you’re from,
but I know what you want.
You want to rip my chest
from the inside out,
you want to force
my limbs asleep,
a tingling
that hurts every move.
You get off
when I sweat through my sweater,
my heart pounding in my chest.
You love to see me
start to shake and cry.
You never call me before you come.
You always show up unexpected,
at night, when I’m alone,
or when I’m in public,
just merely trying to get by.
You love starting a fire in my chest
that is so hard to put out.
You love making me feel like
I should be scared every minute.
But one day, I won’t let you
start that **** fire anymore.
panic attacks.
Fiona Jan 28
right now,
i’d rather stare
into a black hole.
it could swallow
my anxiety away
and take me with it.
this place we call home
will soon be unbearable
to look at.
Fiona Jan 28
breaking A
           AA AA R
       * . •
                    • . *
we will never learn.
Next page