Can you hear that sound?
The one that in the
To many this sound is foreign
For they have not been taught how to listen.
And when the sound rises, pulsating through their body,
They do not know what to do.
This sound is commonly mistaken for fear,
When really it is the instinct to survive.
A powerful instinct to grasp in your hand a sanctuary,
Away from a tormenting pain.
Pain which consumes most.
Etching it's nails in your skin.
And your body breaks - as if to show the world
"Look, I need help!"
But do any come?
For we have been raised to show no weakness.
We have been raised to protect ourselves from our own storms.
Look into my eyes
For there is something there that you have not seen.
The dreams that once consumed my mind,
Resort to being handicapped, only to be activated when forced.
And now, as you continue to stare
Is my message becoming clear?
While I at home,
Waiting for the next storm to come,
Praying that tomorrow will hold a new meaning,
Knowing that tomorrow could be the threshold, of great pain;
Dream of a life I once blissfully possessed.
For in that life
Was a place
Known as my personal
And now, it has been replaced by
Sounds that I do not understand.
Sounds that bring pain, stress, and lies.
Set on my destruction.
And with such sounds beside me,
How can I carry through the day,
As you do?
You all seem not aware of my pain.
Look, my tears tell a story.
A story of a girl,
Who never told a soul
About your problems.
For when confided,
There is no key in the world
That can break my lock.
Thus, none of my secrets are told.
But if my tears could talk,
Once they broke free of my body,
They would scream,
And tell you all that I can't.
They would whisper of death.
Struggle with pain.
They sit silent on my cheek,
Representing the years I've said nothing.
Yet they also smile,
At all of you.
I know you all struggle,
I know you all have stories.
I know some, like me-
Have problems expressing themselves.
And some of you, have the skills to talk.
Those that can speak- rejoice.
Look into your eyes.
Now that you glimpse what mine hold,
What's in yours?
Copyright 2012, Ainsley Chernek. All rights reserved.