Poetic Struggle

She knows it's time
So she grabs her pen ready to rhyme
& spit venom like snakes
But she's no King Cobra
Wanting to use hard curse words
So that listeners understand her frustration
A few Fuck Yous, Shits and Damns don't fill the void, no
Webster hasn't created a hard enough word
It's a wonder why
She wants to cry, she feels them in the wells of her eyes but they won't fall
They are the only thing in her body holding strong
It's so frustrating she wants to cry
Cry for all the relationships broken or lost all together
Cry for the societal standards pushed on her that she psychologically can't live up to
Fuck the physical
It would feel so good to shed a few tears
Because for once, something would be coming out of her body
Rather than being trapped within
& festering
Clinging to a love affair with words she searches for what she hasn't been given in the flesh
Understanding, reassuring words and unconditional love
For a broken pencil lead & a soul left for dead is a dangerous combination
Unsure of her desire to continue living this life, she contemplates mental suicide
A quick & painless disconnection between her mind & body, consciousness and physical being
Because for too long its felt like while the body reaps the benefits of the victory
Her mind is forced to deal with the clean up
She was always told her not to pick her scabs
But like a pure self-mutilator she eyed those fresh emotional scars as a rebellious way to show those in charge who really ran the show
And so she picked & picked until they bled, crying out for a new pencil lead
She figured the more she did, the sooner the numbness would erase the pain,
But the habit only served to enhance it
Each time creating a new reason to want to take out her own emotions
With a double dose of a No. 2
So she looked down at a blank page
A metaphysical representation of the way she feels inside
& she succumbs to the bittersweet poetry