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Poem #170

They all create noises all the time
but they don’t say much. Convinced
they know what I need and what is
best for me. Trying to make me believe
I’m making a big deal out of everything.

I’m just stuck between extreme happiness
and utterly painful sadness. Don’t know what
this thing is. It’s mixing itself in my blood, getting itself
to my brain and then controlling my mouth and
stopping me when I want to call for help.

It’s like they’ll laugh at me, it’s like they’ll
tell me it’s all in my head, it’s like they’ll talk
behind my back all over again, it’s like they won’t
understand again, it’s like they’ll make me feel worse,
it’s like they just won’t hear the words I want to say.

No matter how many times you push me
around you won’t take this power my hands
have when my brain tells them what to write.
I’ll never let you take that, it’s the only thing
I got. No, I won’t let you take writing out of my arms.

I’ll just sit in this cloud of smoke like I do every
month until I find the strength to smile and say
that everything is just fine. I’ll poison my blood
in hopes that the nicotine will poison what’s living inside.
A cigarette between my lips will keep my mouth shut.

It’s like they’ll laugh at me, it’s like they’ll
tell me it’s all in my head, it’s like they’ll talk
behind my back all over again, it’s like they won’t
understand again, it’s like they’ll make me feel worse,
it’s like they just won’t hear the words I want to say.

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