Through the Anger

I would yell, but I know nobody would hear me. I wouldn’t even be able to hear myself. The words I seldom say echo off of these enclosing walls, and the last thing I want is to hear my own thoughts.

My head feels like it’s filling up with lead, weighing me down and poisoning my every pore. I’ve gotten too good at keeping the monsters at bay, resisting the urge to scratch out the anger that seethes underneath my skin.

I’m learning to sit with clenched fingers, pretending to be at ease with a trembling grin on my face, hoping that somebody would see behind my facade, and peel back my skin to see who I truly am, without fear of what they’d find.


I try, I try to yell, but I can only hear my thoughts.