She’s a Warrior

You wouldn’t be able to tell just by seeing

Her messy hair, her stained blouse, her smiles for days

She’s a warrior.

You wouldn’t be able to tell just by hearing

Her laughs, her jokes, her quick remarks

She’s a warrior.

You wouldn’t be able to tell behind closed doors

Where she cries, where she hides, where she sleeps endlessly

She’s a warrior.

How could you possibly see

Her bloodied hands tearfully clutching her success, in fear of it slipping away at any moment?

How could you possibly hear

Her inner dialogue a battery mix of self-loathing, manifestation, and determination?

You couldn’t possibly know that behind closed doors

This brilliant, complex, ambitious girl

She’s a warrior.

anxiety attack

Everything feels wrong.

When you notice the sound that the air makes And how round the sky is, fitting perfectly on top of our fish bowl of An atmosphere we swim on and float on and think on and breathe on. And nothing and everything makes sense When you realize your brain is just a dense formation of tiny living things. It’s like your mind is as solid as a bird’s wings But as abstract and surreal as nameless other things. And your breath is moving up to speed. And your heart pumps so fast, like it’s trying to scream But your head won’t allow it. Society says it’s wrong and you say it doesn’t matter But you’re trapped in a song thats been playing for hours. Repeating and repeating for days on end And you wish it would stop. Please, please, let it end. I think that I’m dying and no one believes me. I can’t breathe anymore and no one can see me. What have I done to deserve such despair? These hands won’t stop shaking and pulling my hair. Why does nobody care That the air isn’t still And my lungs and my heart move by their own will? How can we explain this strange place where we live? Heart is slowing now. Something’s gotta give.

I just need to sleep. I’ll feel better tomorrow. Until next time, Anxiety. It’s your turn now, Sorrow.

Morning Commute

There is

A downtown local 6 train to

Brooklyn Bridge, City Hall

Approaching the station.

Please stand away from the platform edge.

Each morning on my way to my unpaid,

Sad and lonely

Unfulfilling internship, I wonder

What if it’s pulling me under?

What if I didn’t stand away from the edge?

What if I let myself go?

Because lord knows

I can’t take this 9 to 5 anymore.

But each morning I close

Off those thoughts and step into the closing doors.

Practicing balance in the middle of a subway train,

Closing my eyes, pretending not to feel my pain,

But in my mind, I see you and your new lover

And it drives me insane.

The anger, the envy,

The regret and disdain–

I put in my headphones.

But despite this crowded train car,

I still feel so alone.

Sometimes I want to cry because the world is so beautiful

And yet, I’m never truly satisfied.

If only I could express my feelings the way that artists do–

If I could paint my sadness when I look at you.

Leaves are falling but they’re still green.

What does this mean?

Why do the good die young

And why does this cold air fill my lungs

Leaving so many words left unsung?

The ground below me feels hallow and yet

I continue on with these heavy steps,

Choking on emotions too hard to swallow.

And I hope that I’ll fall through.

Maybe the soil and cement will cover me

And maybe you will be the one to discover me.

Or maybe the hallow ground under me will be my escape.

I know nothing of my fate;

I only hope these thoughts dissipate.

I hope I can forgive myself for my mistakes.