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Fragile is Pretty - a slam poem


Poppy_

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Today, I am consumed by thoughts.

Thoughts that I can’t run from or escape. Thoughts that sit on my chest and make it nearly impossible for my lungs to fill with air. Thoughts that are like rain inside my head and it’s flooding and I can’t contain it and the floods are causing damage and it’s all out of my control. A natural disaster in my brain.

My limbs feel like lead and my eyelids are heavy with worry. This is one of those days that I want to turn the world off and catch my breath. This is one of those days that I feel that life is moving too fast and I can’t catch up and it’s just going to pass me by and I won’t even realize what I missed.

It’s like spring showers but instead of rain, there are rocks falling from the sky and building a fortress around me. A fortress to isolate me and keep me locked away from society. But between the rocks on the ground and the floods in my brain, I am completely useless and lost in a river of tears. The air feels suffocating so even though I want to scream out from the rooftops that I need help, I am choking on my own words, and they’re stuck in my throat, and I can’t even form a single word on my lips.

I sit and stare and wait for time to pass – for the feelings to pass. I wait for the thoughts to drown in the floods and the rocks to build the tower so high that it comes crumbling down, but nothing I do is helping to pass the time and these seconds drag on for what feels like an eternity. For eternity – I wait. I rock back and forth for some sort of comfort because if I were to sit still, I worry that I would simply combust because this thin wall of damaged skin can only contain so much before it gives in.

You see, my skin is not like yours. My skin is not made of titanium, or metal, or even brick. No. My skin is made of paper. My skin is thin and breakable and one push too hard and I will tear apart. This is why I must tiptoe everywhere I go. This is why outside is not safe and words are not safe and one jump into the deep end can cause irreparable damage.

My heart, though, is like stained glass. It’s beautiful. It took a lifetime to create this unique masterpiece that I carry in my chest. This piece of artwork that has nothing to give but love and kindness. I have dedicated my life to covering the shards the might prick your finger if you got too close. The trick is, that glass can shatter so easily.

And when you have skin made of paper and a heart made of glass with a brain that is flooding and you’re locked in a tower, it’s easy to feel that things will never be easier because you, my dear, are fragile. I am fragile.

I sing songs and I write poetry and I do all the beautiful things that life has to offer and sometimes it’s still not enough. Still not enough to take away the hurt that creeps in. Being fragile doesn’t stop bad things from happening to you. Being fragile is pretty, but maybe I don’t want to be pretty. Maybe for once, I’d like to feel strong and capable. Maybe for once, I’d like to be strong enough to release the floods and move the thoughts that sit so heavy on my paper chest.

For once, I’d like to not need help. That time is not now.

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