Shhhhhh, Quiet

Trapped inside the mind,

Screaming and yelling to get out.

Prevented by the blockade behind the mouth.

Too many words.

Too many thoughts,

swirling  and swimming all around.

Topics of all kinds.

Only to be released by the

bleeding of ink from a pen on paper, scrawling words across the blue lines.

Wanting to voice aloud, cannot find proper phrases.

But placed on paper, the screaming of words mellow, and become coherent.

Unable to be formed in a paragraph, for in the mind if full of rhyme and stanzas.

Tries to wrote for others to understand, but usually writes to clear the mind.

People speak, they are loud or quiet, aggressive or sweet. All able to voice their words aloud.

Not uncomfortable, or scared.

Nor nervous,

Just trying to  sort the swirling and swimmingwords.

Words often

s

      P

I

       R

A

       L

into themselves, always getting smaller,

N

E

V

E

R

stopping or

C

H

A

N

G

I

N

G

.

The mind gets lost within the spirals, trying desperately to

E

   S

       C

           A

                P

                      E

through the voice.

Always in search of pen and paper, to scratch things down.

Wants to help other, often doesn’t know how to offer.

Has appreciation for those around, yet doesn’t know how to show or say.

Wanting to speak, mind screaming back, saying to stay quiet from years of being told not to speak.

Still unsure how to properly show affection, to family, friends, and significant other.

Cares a lot, struggling to keep pace.

The only comfort, when thoughts are sorted out through the blood of pens staining the white paper.

Author's Note

I come from a very f***** up home.
My father and stepmother treated me as a thing, rather than a child.
They would yell and yell at me, telling me to answer them, then as soon as I try to answer, I would try to answer, then instantly be shut down by being told to shut the hell up.
If I didn't do one little thing, I'd be slapped.
If my niece or nephew did something, it would be put on me.
Everything in this poem, is a problem that was created by them.
When I was still living with them, I would write things down on paper, the burn the paper.

Just a little more about me I guess.

Reviews

[Lavi]

Bloody hell, I can relate to this so much. I love so many of your lines and would've quoted them all here but was too excited to leave this review to add more than this one:
"Tries to write for others to understand, but usually writes to clear the mind."
It's somewhat ironic but also extremely refreshing to be reading this poem now after just last night staying up late and staring at the ceiling wondering how long I've been distracting myself from reading too deeply into thoughts I used to speculate all the time in the past out of fear of spiraling thoughts and escaping reality for fantasy and then trying to get back.
And just… you’ve portrayed that perfectly here. Strange though, we have some parallels. Not the same exactly but similar nevertheless. It resonates the strongest with me about writing things down on paper and then burning them. I did the same up until two and a half years ago (that long ago already?) when I got caught after a suicide attempt and now the people that know about that think it’s a trigger, which it isn’t but now I spend my time staring into candle lights with churning thoughts rather than giving them a physical form. Or give it a technical form on here.
Little bit about me there, sorry for rambling, it could be the caffeine but I like to think that your writing has resonated something within me too.
Also, brilliant poem structure. Not many can make it work but you made it do so and you owned it. So so true. Damn, I just love this.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the deepest inside thoughts often can't find their way to voice---for various reasons...one being that we are told all our young lives to be seen and not heard...or we are ignored...i remember this when i was young...when i had something to say, i would begin and then get interrupted with "i need to watch this" Or "i want to see this" or something...
i found my voice in words on paper....no one can stop that from happening---and when the muse helps us to find the written words...she coaxes us rather than shuts us out or up.
j.

[sette]

i like the poetic style the form the words and the thoughts

[Mrudula Rani]

We all write about what we experience in life ... what you endured seemed like torture. Grownups have to be stupid or utterly wicked to treat a child the way your stepmother and father had treated you. I hope you have distanced yourself from these toxic people now. Start loving yourself and try to put past behind you, you have a long future before you and I wish you all the best, wish you loads of love and happiness. Take care.