Frozen
I am frozen. I can't move Can't speak Can't breathe. Stares penetrate me, Seeing straight to my soul, And all the stress comes crashing down around my head. My hands are shaking, May teeth gnaw at my lip, And I stumble over my words as I try to talk. I look for help, but find none, And I become colder and colder. I may seem bright and happy, But on the inside, I have shards of ice through my heart. I am scared of speaking in front of crowds, Even though I love to talk face-to-face. I hate to hurt someone, Even though I act like I don't care, like I am ok. I don't say the words, not in front of anyone, But I do think them. Often. But I am a good person, At least, I try to be, I think? I don't know anymore, I don't know who I am. But then I turn to you, And you show me the light inside you, Which can be inside me, You comfort me when I am Frozen, Light a fire in my heart that melts the ice, And teach me to breathe again.
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I love to hear people sing.
Their emotions flowing from their mouths to my waiting ears, Vocalizing their pain, their joy, The light and dark melodies. Writing is like music, Although I can't sing as well, I can paint a picture of what I feel, By using words, words who have always enthralled me. Like music, you might not like my style, And that's ok, But at the heart of my star, I write for me, not you. Although if you like what I have to say, What I sing with my pen, Then I will embrace you, And listen to you sing. They say that I listen to too much music, And that I need to settle on one type, But what I like changes every day. And I see the beauty in all of it. Beethoven's 14th flows through my fingers like water, But I still love Panic! and Amy, Never forgetting to make time for Lorde and for Disney music. You might not get it, but that's ok. I personally don't like rap. Even if we don't speak the same language, I can still feel the melodies flowing past me, Beating inside me alongside my heart. When I entered the world,
Shrieking and wailing, They told him to talk and calm me down. He did, and I listened, holding his big finger in all five of my little ones. A few years later, when I was shrieking and wailing again, He looked me in the eyes and I grabbed his finger in my five littler ones, And I calmed down. He makes me laugh when I am sad, He brings light into our lives, He works tirelessly day and night for us, And without him I would not be the same. He has carried us all at one point or another, Sometimes all at once. And so when I'm scared, Internally shrieking and wailing, I reach for his hand, And grip his finger in my five smaller ones. I knew his voice, And I stopped crying, And the doctors helped me breathe. He understands me, Knows me, Because I am like him, And so he knows what to say to help me feel better, Even if it's just the outreach of his open hand, So that my five tiny fingers could grip his larger one. |
Matilda OrwellPosting weekly on Friday or Saturday. Archives
September 2017
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