June 12, 2012
By GracieGrcae BRONZE, Missouri City, Texas
GracieGrcae BRONZE, Missouri City, Texas
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

When I’m mad I say nothing
Even if it’s driving me crazy
There are words I want to say
But its frozen packed onto my brain.
Angered and angered I get every day.
They say so much to me.
I don’t know why but I just take it
Why I just let them be.
Anger torched in my eyes
Overwhelmed by my airless words,
Strangling me deep inside,
Words emerged by confusion.
Somehow I’m still amused how cruel this world really is.
In which I will be happy when gone
This world which I will not miss
The big guy upstairs tells me,
“Be slow to anger.”
So I’m tranquil like a mouse.
Watching my predators butcher me alive,
So quiet so hushed
Unable to feel myself breathe.
Heart skipping beats.
Pausing each time by struggled words,
There I feel myself dying of anguish.
“Be slow to anger.”
He says.
My fist clung tight shaking but I lift no finger
How slow am I supposed to be?
Like a child I obey scared of the consequence.
I obey
So why don’t they?
There they are freed to be free
Of words that yet strangle my throat,
When I open up my mouth wanting to say what’s on my mind,
I never seem to find.
Though I’m not hurt,
Not by those words but the muted words I speak.
Words which come out sounding like creaks.
When will I stop being that little girl and say what I feel?
Unscarred of hurting someone so deep,
Concerned about how they feel.
Though I’ve been treated like a sheep
Sheared of my belongings,
Without a look back of thanks.
Sometimes I wonder is there something wrong with me.
Am I that unknown freak?
A discovery waiting to be encountered.
The unknown criminal to words
Or maybe those are my words spoken in unspoken words ,
The undiscovered route to where the agony I bare goes.
Unspoken when mad
Silenced when sad
Loved by those who hate me most
Troubled by the my curious host
Truth is I’m not scared of what I may say.
But unidentified by what I may do
Sometimes it’s good to be unspoken
And times it is not.
Seems I’ve been holding things to long,
Even when mad I continue to let things rot.
But when will it be my day to speak when angered?
Though I’ve asked myself countless times,
Reality is I know myself way to well.
I guess even time could never tell.

The author's comments:
I wrote this for a creative writing scholarship but I didn't make the deadline because of some complications. The prompt was based on bullying. It was save to the website but after the deadline i deleted it. The point of my poem is for my reader to feel, smell,hear,and even taste the pain. Over the years I've learned that what you say to someone can live with them forever. They might not always remember what you say but just how you made them feel.

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