It pierces.
The pain
The guilt
the pressure.

Like the throbbing
of my head.

The words.

The gentle breeze does care for me,
it really does. 
But ever so fragile as the smallest leaf
i fall 
defeated
to the words
the words of pain
its pain
not mine
but mine

that subtle movement
is a hurricane
that leaf
its cause

it makes no sense
nothing does
but both the gentle breeze
and the leaf
know.

its mine. 
like the throbbing in my head.
 

This is a poem i got inspired by looking at a chair. To see the poem Click read more.

This is a narrative I wrote last year for my English class. Hope you like it! - Yasmin

Days, months, years had passed since it happened. Yet I still live in that very moment, or rather that, this moment, lives on in me, with me, off me. I would be mendacious if I said I had forgotten or if it had forgotten me. How could it, how could I, after all that we've been through. My safe, my saviour, my equal, yet it is the source of so, so much pain and anguish. 

Pulling my hand towards the door, was a force I had no power or authority over. A force that had left me appalled, bewildered... that had left me staring at the contents of a room I could not yet make sense of. It was unspoken of. What was I doing? My mind, submissive in character, was desperately ordering my body to obey the words that I had been told only too often: "Don't you ever dare walk past that door". But I did.

Stress. Pain. I had to relax. And so I found myself in the forest, where I stretched my arms and released it all. Poured the negative contents out of my brain, into the grass, which in turn, absorbed it all.
“I am free!” I yelled, laughing, almost maniacally. But my behaviour no longer mattered, for I was all alone. I had all of this to myself! Oh, how unbelievable it felt, how spending a few minutes in nature, among the trees and fruitful plants, how it made you feel so alive, so detached from the insane world of ongoing stress.
Except, it didn’t last forever. Because now, my reasons for running had changed.