I'm really struggling to find a way to start,
a way to let out what I have trapped inside.
And I'm wondering every moment that I type
how you'll take this confession that my fingers create.
I'm sorry, you know, sorry for the pain this will cause
and the havoc it will wreak upon your life.
And on mine.
I beg you now, before this all comes to light
to not send me to a clinically white room,
full of strangers and a clipboard that might
just destroy my life as I confess what's within it.
I've started to get off topic, I know that much is true
and I'm still struggling to find the words to say to you.
I'm putting it in a poem with artistic license,
so the dread that climbs my throat can be compared
to a monster without me facing a persons laughter.
so that the weight in my veins can be water through a stream
that is slowly seeping and drying away.
I hope that you understand what I'm referring to.
I don't want to say it aloud, I don't want to make it true
but I think the least I can do is to tell you
how the fear and pain eats me up from within.

I'm drowning and I cannot swim.

Love
Sweet, sensual.
Giving, hoping, feeling.
Consumes your whole being
*Passion.

I've lost my way and I've lost the light,
the beacon of hope that used to shine in the distance.
I don't know what went wrong.
What went right?
But this ache that has started to freeze my soul,
I can feel it, taking control.

This ache that appeared as my shining light dimmed.
Now, as I stare into the mirror, I see.
I see hatred and I see dishonesty and I see ugliness
I see loneliness.
My distorted image that craves touch.
The touch of people that care in a crowded room filled with hope

A hope that was peeled away even as my weakened fingers clutched,
begging for it to never leave me.
Curling away as I curled into myself.
Trying to carry on through the pain and despair that screamed
in my slowly freezing soul.

Sometimes I don't understand how people string sentences together
In a room full of crowded people, all eyes upon them.
I can only gaze in wonder as they speak,
oozing a certain confidence that I don't possess.
People that have the ability to commandeer a classroom, a captain.
Whilst I stay below deck, hands shaking at the thought of speaking next.

Smart doesn't always mean confident, what I put on paper doesn't translate well when I try to explain things out loud.
Daunting steps to the front of a room, all eyes upon me, strikes fear in me
My arms are lead, notes ready to fall from my hands
The hum of chatter a constant reminder that I am no captain.
I won't ever commandeer a classroom through speech

I can only hope that one day I'll be able to take that walk without my heart pounding a constant rhythm against my chest.
Without feeling like I'm about to have a noose put around my neck.