Here are a few more posts for the Nat’l Poetry Month contest. Have you sent in your submission? You have until the end of the month.  Click here for info about how to enter and PRIZES: http://samanthaschutz.net/site/?p=597

MAW, age 18

My hands shake

Violently

My body turns itself into a

Rocking chair

My legs

Bounce

I sit in this stall

Rocking

Shaking

Bouncing

I huddle over

My breasts brush against my thighs

And I rock

And I beg myself to breathe

And I beg myself to stop these tears

And I dare not make a sound

Not even a

Gasp

Because there’s this paranoia that if I do a

Gasp

Will turn into a

Whisper   

Which will turn into a small

Whimper

Which will morph into a

Cry

Which will heighten to a

Sob

Which becomes a

Wail

Which finally creates a

Shriek a

Scream a

Sound

That is so loud that it’ll simply

Take over everything and never

Stop.

Monday is bad.

I’m starting to loose track of when they start.

I hate it when they ask me

“When did the attack start?”

because I never have a clear answer

for them

or even myself.

I’ve given up on trying to tell myself

that this is tied to a certain class

and I’m tired of wondering what

the precedent is.

When I leave in the middle of class

I want to give up completely

on ever trying to leave my room again

because nothing ever seems worth

this struggle.

I go to the counselors office

and I crumble in the chair

and start sobbing.

I want nothing more than to run away

to run into traffic

or maybe off a bridge.

I tell him that I’m having suicidal thoughts

and that I have urges.

I tell him I’m scared

because I know that this

isn’t me.

He writes this all down

I know that he is staring at me

and I want to scream at him to

advert his eyes

to not look at me.

It’s making me nervous,

and I feel like his eyes are judging.

He tells me that he needs to call my parents

because I’m having these thoughts.

That makes me cry harder

because I don’t want them to know this.

I

want

crave

need

bliss.

The Celexa

gives me

Hell.

I mistakenly went off it

because I forgot to refill my prescription

and then I went back on

full strength.

I

want

to

die.

I cry

more than I’m

not

and I’m tearing up my skin

with my knife.

I wake up

and I cry

and then I scream

because something inside me is dying

and it’s releasing a poison

that’s leaving me dead.

All I can do

is stare lifelessly

at the world

and wait for time

to pass me by.

Zoloft

is better.

I feel as though the curtains are opening

and my depression

doesn’t seem as smothering

and my “death”

doesn’t feel permanent.

For the first time today

I saw Brad

and I cried

because in the first time

in what feels like never

I feel so

alive

and an overwhelming

amount of love

and life

pounds through my veins.

I can only kiss him

and I didn’t realize how much

I missed him

this past month

even though

he’s been by my side

this whole time.

Bliss

is fearing less

and loving

more.

For the first time

in my life

I feel

alive.

The future

doesn’t feel

unreachable

but instead

it’s around the corner

filled with

love

life

and art.

I began drawing

the panic attacks

my tears

becoming the

paper

and my fear

becoming the colors

and ever since

I’ve let it out

I feel as though

it’s not a burden

but instead something to harden

this weak shell

and instead of making me permeable

it’s letting me bend

with every curve

of my life.

I’m still

afraid

of leaving my bed.

But I remember the depression

and of how I died

and that scares me more.

I’m terrified

of these panic attacks

but I’m terrified

of fear more.

I may never be

free

of anxiety

and there are days when I just

cry.

I’m nothing more

than a girl

who fears much

but loves more.

This is

enough

because I know

that I’ll wake up

and have the

bliss

that I didn’t have

before.

Alyssa H., age 17
HURT