Held deep inside my gut, it chokes but not quite
It’s more like a firm pressure, I can’t place it
It’s like having your head underwater, in a pool
But not in a warm feeling, in a way that makes me feel like a fool
It’s like drowning, drowning in the silence of my own words
The quietness and stillness of my bedroom once brought comfort
Now it irks me along with the little things that **** me off
“It’s fine”, I say over and over again to the same old tune, masking it with a cough
But only I know how the multiple scenarios play into my head.
“It’s fine” are the words that tumble out of my mouth as I yell at myself
I figure that ‘it’s fine’ becomes a mere escape to the mess in my head
Those same words ring out like a broken radio, even if I imagine what would happen
What would be everyone’s reaction if I let out those drowning words?
Head up in the air, that’s the only way I can try to hold myself up not to drown
Sometimes late at night when I can’t sleep,
It ends with the same old conflict.
A pair of squeezing hands, I shout them to stop
I can’t breathe, my own words die on my tongue
With watery eyes, my surroundings fade
But something grounds me– something I can’t name to keep me brave
“Nobody is coming to save you, so get up” rings softly.
The pressure lifts, it leaves a scar but I can’t breathe
It was never the water that made me feel like drowning
Nor that nagging pressure on my throat that made me feel like dying
All along, I was dying by my own unsaid words
Who came from my heart, was directed in a scenario to my brain, but died slashed mercilessly on the sharp blade of my tongue.
Alexithymia, the inability to describe emotions in a verbal manner
Maybe that’s why my fingers have etches of endless typing, I let myself choke on my own words
The winner is never the heart or mind, but the spilt invisible blood of my killed words
And the loud screeching of my own soul
Maybe that’s why they say poets sit in darkness and warm their solitude with their own sweet sounds.
Because they are a clump of words of what was left unsaid but never quite left.
But even then, I know I’ll always nearly drown in my unsaid words
And spit them out in a clump later in what poetry is formed.
Wrote this after leaving words unsaid and said "it's fine" once again. Wrote this as that same "It's fine" burnt the torch of my passion that got ripped out of my heart along with my soul and tears.
