RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Sitting in quiet desperation,
wanting to be able to talk - I find that I cannot.
Insides turning over - flipping out, because of stress.
Being tuned in to a past that fills me with fearful dread.
Knowing that to talk is best, I find I cannot do it even
though it would lay to rest all memories of yesterday.
Living in a secret hell, wanting to get through it all,
but never tell a soul about it.
Sitting here in quiet desperation,
I fill my soul with prayers - unanswered. Hopes unfulfilled.
Crying deep inside, afraid to get angry and yell four-letter words.
Afraid that I will go to hell, because of what I might say.
Knowing all along the hell I'm living is the worst kind.
Sitting in quiet desperation, praying and letting myself go to God.
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Comments about this poem (Quiet Desperation by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
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