Inconsolable. Poem by Shameca Biggs

I'm cold. It's dark. I'm blind.
I end up at this place every time. My end of the line.

I keep waiting for the cord to snap.
I keep waiting in this broken shack.

I'm freezing in this darkness that blinds my soul.
I stop wanting to help them.
I stop wanting to be whole. I'm tired of the helping role.

Where's my help? Where's my rescue?
Where's my 'there's no me without you'?
Where's my peace, my place, my profit?
Hashtag 'Me too' to top it.

He. They. Them. Him. People busy living in their own storms.
I keep crashing towards them but never quite reaching.
Struggling for the ordinary. Breaking myself again for the norms.

I'll write him a letter. I'll sing her a song.
They'll like my sadness. Times out. It won't be long.

Count to ten with your eyes closed and nothing else matters.
Just free fall into the numbers. Embrace the glass that shatters.