How could I possibly put it in to words?
How could I possibly write about it?
When it overwhelms me with searing anger,
when it makes my bones feel like heavy led.
When it makes me what to punch my little fists,
against the wall,
with all the breath in my 5’1 frame.
When it makes me want to scream,
until my lungs are raw,
till flecks of blood mix with the saliva that flies from my mouth.
I want to search my house,
like a scavenging rat,
for anything with a shiny cool edge,
to rip apart my skin,
so that I wouldn’t be so furious,
so that I wouldn’t hate,
so that I could find some emotional room for hope in my storehouse.
what happened to me is not a cage,
it’s like drowning in a salty ocean,
and it stings your eyes,
and burns your lungs,
as you inhale and try to escape,
but you can’t,
it’s still there,
it sticks to your skin,
it’s under your nails,
it’s in your blood.
Show me the hope-
don’t just memorize it,
don’t just tell me words,
because words are empty-
they hold no weight.
Words are like clay that could be molded by any unknowing mind,
you can change the dough from a truth to a lie in a second and it still looks creditable-
but I want real hope-
I need a rock-
I need something solid to prove-
that there is hope.