My Me - written 4/19/09 (At 16)

And furthermore
I could be perfectly content
in a cabin, in a cave, in a hole,
on an island, in a bathroom stahl

Away from faces
it is the faces
that will thrust themselves
on top of you
strangling the only thought that
you hold dear:

there is no thought
not a thought in her head,
not a thought in this world
but i can't explain it
of course, no not when
you're around

i can't think about the
absence of thought
because i'm swallowed, submerged
in your world
and that thing to rely on -
is gone.

As though the thread that is me
was somehow braided and
tangled with everyone
else's

And there's no clean way to do it.
Not a nice thing about it.
I want mine back.
Snip.
We'll have to cut, rip
everything
and then I'll have my me

This poem speaks to how I feel a lot of the time around people. In my head I am screaming things I want to say, but I hold them back and then I always feel like nobody really knows me. I guess I've always felt this way.