They boil up inside
unable to escape
I want to scream
I want to run
run from my emotions
my feelings
I feel as if I am suppressing them
but the problem is
I have no problems
Everyone writes about
loss
love
death
mourning
That is my problem
I have never
lost
loved
no one has died
or mourned of my own
That is it
I am surrounded
by those screaming for help
those suffering heart ache
but I sit here
thinking thoughts that are not my own
I want to scream
I have this bubble
ready to burst,
I need to tell someone
but what is there to tell...
I have nothing to say,
no confession to make,
no promise to break...
Just an overwhelming hole,
a hole that gets bigger
with every passing moment...
I feel depressed but about what?
There is nothing wrong,
no lover or broken heart,
no loss, death or mourning...
But if so why is there a hole...
Why can I write poems that speak of things beyond me....
I want to scream...
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
They boil up inside
unable to escape
I want to scream
I want to run
run from my emotions
my feelings
I feel as if I am suppressing them
but the problem is
I have no problems
Everyone writes about
loss
love
death
mourning
That is my problem
I have never
lost
loved
no one has died
or mourned of my own
That is it
I am surrounded
by those screaming for help
those suffering heart ache
but I sit here
thinking thoughts that are not my own
I want to scream
I have this bubble
ready to burst,
I need to tell someone
but what is there to tell...
I have nothing to say,
no confession to make,
no promise to break...
Just an overwhelming hole,
a hole that gets bigger
with every passing moment...
I feel depressed but about what?
There is nothing wrong,
no lover or broken heart,
no loss, death or mourning...
But if so why is there a hole...
Why can I write poems that speak of things beyond me....
I want to scream...