My own chest seizes at the sound of sobs
Watching rose petals fall from their stems with ease
How a touch of sweat will form ink globs
At the place where my hand holds an unopened acceptance letter
There isn't much I can do to relax my anxieties
But Putting together phrases that outline my breathing patterns
Seem to put my shaking hands at bay
However the poems I write aren't solely selfish
I write for misunderstandings
I write for people who crumble at the flick of a glare
I write for the passion that changes the way I think about honeybees for the rest of my life
Listen to the silence of a person holding back the phrase, 'I told you so'
look for the physical lift in a broken soul's newfound hope
All of the heavy emotions
They give voice to the tear-soaked jacket shoulders, frantic chewed pens, torn marriage certificates, shredded prom dresses
Who comes to mind when you think about smiles?
Who comes to mind when you think of screams?
Channeling feelings in a good way is difficult
And there are only so many ways to find speech after devastations and 'goodbyes'
First hand to heartbreak and secondhand to suicide
There aren't a lot of emotions I don't feel
I'm grasped with these emotions and until I share them
The root of my suffocation
Writing is my inhaler
This is my asthma attack
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