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Mar 2016
Succumbing to the silence
has left me ill-hearted.
The head that has been placed
between these shoulders
weighs heavy on my conscious.
The only way to stay sane
is surrounding myself with noise.
This chair that has been kicked
from beneath me has a name now.
It calls out mine when I sleep
and it repeats in my head
until I understand why it's there.
It's purpose is to make me feel alone-
so far it is winning.
So far, I do nothing to stop it.

This ache inside my chest
has left me concave-
I used to be so convex.
Used to fall outside of everyone else's angles
and now I'm closed off
so inside myself that I am blind
to anything other than your smile.
I would like to talk about how the pain hurts
how I hope the air I breathe becomes poison
and I don't wake at all.

I try to scream,
no one is around to hear me anymore
they're all stuck inside of others
when no one will even stick around
to see me come outside again.
If you fall down and become a train wreck
and no one is around to hear you  
does that mean you haven't gone off the rails?
Does that make your pain irrelevant
and the mess you've made non existent?

I guess I'll never know-
because I seem to be the tree that never grows
just stays dormant until my time comes
but I don't think it ever will.
Seasons don't mean much to me
and I wish I could be happy.
But this type of soil where I try to soak my roots
is not nourishing enough to let me grow.
So I wither and no one seems to know I am here.
A flower un-bloomed I have lived unknown
and no one will see me become beautiful
because I keep getting walked all over,
no one cares unless you've blossomed
not until you've become worthy of picking.
Amanda Stoddard
Written by
Amanda Stoddard  United States
(United States)   
  699
     Desire, Poetria and Michelle
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