These words pour out of me alongside my tears. This poem cuts through me like a
dagger. Each verse ages me a few years. I correspond via letters to my true love,
Pain, as I think of a sentence that'll rhyme with calling myself insane. Are those
enough metaphors? Do I need to add some more? My life has become a metaphor,
one big closed door. No I don't want your help, I beg you, leave me alone. I don't
want to get better, I want to lay here and moan, crying out in agony, I'm very
aware you can't hear me, this is not for you.
I am a dragon you should have the brains not to poke. Now you must deal with my
fury, my fire and smoke. You say to contain it, that you don't want to hear it.
Well neither did I, but you've broken up my spirit. Sit down, you are going to
I'm tired of metaphors, of locked doors, of worrying about saying the wrong
words. Formal verse is so restricting, haikus and limmericks, free verse,
much more.... lifting? No, not lifting, that doesn't make sense. Let me start
sifting, through my words, my vocabulary, make my mind seems a little less
scary. I don't want this to be for you.
This is my escape. My world. With these words, I am a dragon, not just a girl.
That's not a metaphor either, that's the truth.