The Toxicity of Silence

 

She was a sweet baby girl, but her story was never told —

Her heart dangling by a hair-width string, so bare and so cold;

Her emotions grew to be a matted mess, lodged inside her brain

Like the locks that grew atop her head, scalp sprouting them in vain.

 

Seldom did she grouse about the happiness she lacked,

Never did she speak her mind, with fear of being attacked —

No one knew the pain she felt, or listened to her cries;

Convulsion puncturing her soul — it could be seen within her eyes.

 

Her demons swarmed around her, a meal was what they wanted,

But her heart was all she had left, though it hung traumatized and daunted:

With the violent swipe of a claw, it was torn from her possession;

The monsters chewed it up and swallowed like food from a concession.

 

With an eerie shrill, she collapsed to the ground —

Isolated and forgotten, never to be found:

Her hallowed body was interred over the years by the Earth's shifting shape

And dragged beneath the surface to greet the Hell she thought she'd escaped.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741