A Poem by Isabella Cezanne


do you ever
feel those 

the days when 
you wake up
and something
is off, weird


and it feels
just like a 
regular day, but
its not a 
regular day
will never be 
a regular 

its the moments
where the world
feels quiet
is quiet

its still

so still, its like
time has stopped
moving around
you, or maybe
you've stopped
moving in time

like i could
sit outside and 
watch the world
go by for

not a care,
not a single
thought, no
concept of 
anything important

just the breeze
on my fingertips
and the sun
on my face
and people moving
by and not
a single

and yet
there is a
quiet symphony
in the back
of my head

playing from the
moment i open
my eyes in the 

it knows

i don't hear it
when i wake 
i don't hear it
when i go to
school and
pretend that i
don't notice the
shift in my 

smile for my 
laugh like i'm 
not slowly dying

i don't hear it
when i sit outside
and time moves
to a standstill
even though
the light disappears

all i hear are the 
birds then

i don't hear it
when i walk
to my room
at night

watching the sun
go down from 
my window
wishing that the
dying light
would stay frozen

like how i 

but it builds in
my head
like a growing pressure

that rising
those quiet
violins that
build the climax
in every sad
movie where you
finally unlock the 
missing trauma of 
the main character

and it all
crashes down

that's the moment
where it crushes

and instead of the 
world feeling still
how i am

time starts moving
around me

and it speeds up
and the muffled
voices suddenly
come into 
sharp focus
they're not voices 
from today

and the symphony
crashes into me
in its final peak

and my face
is wet, eyes
leaking at an
uncontrollable rate
and i'm barely
breathing, air
coming in short
gasps, eyes searching
looking at something
that isn't actually
in front of me

sitting completely
still, because
i'm not even there

i'm  reliving a 
different time

reliving a memory
i forgot i had
in near perfect 

moving backwards
through years in
hyper speed but
feeling every
like its the first

those tears aren't
from today they
are from the 
shower six months
ago, holding yourself
and letting the 
water muffle your

they are from 
two years ago
when you would 
cry yourself to sleep
so your friends wouldn't

they are from
eighth grade in
your mother's 
bedroom, breaking down
every two days
after coming back
from your father's house

they are from that
tiled hallway in
middle school
barely twelve years old
reaching for the 
lockers outside your
classroom, hand 
over your mouth
gasping for air
so the other classes
won't hear the sobs
rip from your 
and then

and then you're
back at your

almost seventeen, and
a lifetime later

i think, this
must be why
my day felt
weird, maybe
the calm before
the storm
and then


and then its
all gone

© 2020 Isabella Cezanne

Author's Note

Isabella Cezanne
I'm sorry this is so long. Thank you to anyone who reads the whole thing.

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I adore your style
I read it from the beginning to the end
and after that from the end ot the beginning and
It felt like Its not the same poem

Posted 1 Year Ago

Isabella Cezanne

1 Year Ago

thank you so much

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2 Reviews
Added on June 16, 2020
Last Updated on June 17, 2020
Tags: depression, mental health


Isabella Cezanne
Isabella Cezanne

Denver, CO

I don't write too often outside of class and such but I'm always striving to share my work and be better so here I am. more..


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