Discarded Poem by Cloe C

'Sometimes silence is all that you can hear. Not because there is no sound but because you are panicking so much you cannot hear anything. You are trapped inside of your own mind, inside of your own body. and you feel like a ghost, possessing a vessel. You are walking on an ocean. But you don't fall in. you don't make a splash because you're not even there. And if you don't make a sound you don't exist. The only sound coming from your body is the shallowness of your breathe from the hollow chest it comes out of. The pounding beat of your heart. A rhythmatic drum that doesn't stop beating. Only you want the beating to stop. the beating is too loud it feels like you are being beaten by the drumstick. And suddenly when you're not there you are there you are the center of attention. Being abused by a endless torturer. You're only needed when the drum has to be beat. And then afterwards you're off again and you don't matter anymore. The metallic taste of blood will soak and remain in your mouth for the remainder of your life. And your brain will always hold on to this memory in this moment of time. Now you will sit on a couch in a small room trying to confess these feelings from years of torture and misuse to a complete stranger in only an hour. One hour every week cannot express this. So you try to find the right words. the right words of being a small ant in the palm of a child's hand as they smush you and laugh about it. Moving on to the next ant. Treating you as nothing. Your dead carcass will be smashed again. into the ground, into the dirt and you will never have a proper burial. You try to find the right words of how you feel like a flower with pesticide on it. Slowly absorbing the fluid and dying. This is the slowest death you can possibly imagine and it hurts tremendously. And the gardener everyday puts pesticides on you more and more until you die. The burning is all you can feel. As it eats you up. You try to find the right words of being a monster waiting under a bed. For night to come and to be able to have a purpose on this planet. except the day time feels so long and treacherous that you cannot wait until night comes. But then you're only needed for couple of hours maybe even minutes because you're point to be alive is still not valid. You try to find the right words like how you are a parking validation. Only valid for couple of hours until then you're stamped and thrown away. and then the paper isn't isn't even recycled it's thrown away like trash. Crumpled and disposed just like the tissues you use in your therapists office every time you cry. But every time you try to speak and express how you feel, you get scared because you don't have enough time. So why even try to express how you feel. So you sit there in the silence, only silence feels deadly and reminds you of how you trap yourself inside of your head moments before you are abused and discarded.'