Often there are times where I find myself swelling with anger. I don't know where this anger comes from, or why it finds itself in me, but it is sudden and unexpected. I beleive this form of depression occurs in nearly everyone, and each person has their own way of mental release. I have three ways in which I release this "bad" energy; one of which is writing. In this journal I will write what I feel. When I feel trapped or like I can't talk to anyone, I will type to you. The funny thing is, I'll have no idea if anyone can read my random thoughts and words and feel the same- that is, unless you comment. I am open to any comments, but try to have some manners. neutral And so we go...
For my 14th birthday, I received a poem book by Alicia Keys from my parents. Back then, I didn't fully appreciate poetry, and was not writing it myself. However, several months later, I actually picked it up and read, understanding what it meant and being able to relate to its contents. I suppose with age does come wisdom. My favorite poem in the book is as follows:
p.o.w.
I'm a prisoner Of words unsaid Just lonely feelings Locked away in my head I trap myself further Every time I stay quiet I should start to speak But I stop and stay silent And now I've made My own hard bed Inside a prison of words unsaid
I am a P.O.W. Not a prisoner of war A prisoner of words Like a soldier I'm a fighter Yet only a puppet Mostly I only say What you wanna hear could you take it if I came clear? Or would you rather see me Stoned on a drug of complacency and compromise M.I.A. I guess that's what I am Scraping this cold earth For a piece of myself For peace in myself
It'd be easier if you put me in jail If you locked me away I'd have someone to blame But these bars of steel are of my making They surround my mind And have me shaking My hands are cuffed behind my back I'm a prisoner of the worst kind, in fact A prisoner of compromise A prisoner of compassion A prisoner of kindness A prisoner of expectation A prisoner of my youth
Run too fast to be old I've forgotten what I was told Ain't I a sight to behold?
A prisoner of age dying to be young To my head is my hand with a gun And it's cold and it's hard Cause there's nowhere to run When you've caged yourself By holding your tongue
I'm a prisoner Of words unsaid Just lonely feelings Locked away in my head It's like solitary confinement Every time I stay quiet I should start to speak But I stop and stay silent And now I've made My own hard bed Inside a prison of words unsaid
I love this poem and relate to it so well. I used to think that famous people had the good life. But to right a poem like this so well, you have to be there. I guess anyone's life can suck.
Angela Whitmore · Tue May 22, 2007 @ 09:49pm · 2 Comments |