Angst.

Anger.

A thick clay

salving the pain

of not being enough.

It's as simple

as not getting

what I want, and

as complex as not

being able to breathe.

It's being told to 

be quiet, sit down,

you're too loud,

you're too much,

your emotions

are way too big.

It's being lied to

and being scolded

for correcting.

It's a verbal attack.

A threat for speaking

my Truth.

It's being told

"because I said so",

and not being able to reply.

It's shoving it down

for fear of being hurt,

screamed at, berated

or popped in the mouth.

It feels like hot tears,

itching my face

in the corner of my closet.

It's grinding teeth

and a sore jaw, and

realizing it's been clenched

for over twenty years.

It's wanting to scream, but

having an invisible hand

at my throat and

around my mouth.

It's heat in my core,

and a blinding light

blurring my vision.

It's fight or flight,

fawn or freeze.

It's the urge to hit something.

Throw something.

Destroy.

It's never being heard.

It's asking for permission.

It sounds like,

NO.

FUCK YOU.

GET OUT.

LEAVE ME ALONE.

It smells like salt soaked

pillowcases and

stomach acid

churning in my guts.

It's a mosh pit that ended

too soon, and the punk song

on repeat.

It's in every brush stroke.

It's behind every forced smile

and sugar coated words.

It's hiding in fear.

It's passive aggressive.

It's boiling,

just beneath the surface.

Waiting to be released.