a poem

Not to alarm anyone (warning: dark poetry ahead); it's just a difficult time right now, and sometimes I can't capture all my thoughts the way I want.  But here is a poem that found  it's way out of my head, through my fingers, to the keyboard today.  So, here it is.  Maybe someone needs to read it just as much as I apparently needed to write it.

My Brain Screams

and no one hears.

No one hears what my mind says,

only me.

Only me.

No one can tell,

no one looks and knows.

Only me.

I am not all that I seem.

I am not what I look.

My clothes are clean and nice,

my hair is fixed, like my smile.

It is not a real smile;

it is something I put on in the morning when I get out of bed,

like the clothes,

like the combed and arranged hair.

Because that is what I am supposed to do.

The smile is part of my wardrobe,

it is not part of my spirit.

If you look close, you will see.

It does not come from my eyes.

It is not me.

I hurt.

I ache.

I want.

I am discontent.

I should be grateful,

I have so much more than many.

Yet I have not joy,

I have not a real smile.

I have pain,

or numbness,

but rarely joy.

I want the joy.

I want the real smile.

I want my brain to quiet down,

to stop screaming.

Peace.

Quiet.

Contentment.

Joy.

Will it ever come to me?

I cannot quit,

I cannot give in.

I cannot stop.

Because if I stop,

if I quit,

if I give up,

I know for certain

that joy will never come.

So I go on.

I get up.

I get dressed.

I fix my hair.

I fix my smile.

I try again.