If I Only Had The Passion

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
It's basically a poem I wrote about feeling so angry, but not being able to do anything. I've always been considered so mild and sweet, but sometimes I want to scream! I can't though, so it's all stuck in my head, all the things I'd do if I weren't afraid. Comments are always appreciated!

Submitted: January 07, 2008

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Submitted: January 07, 2008

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If I Only Had The Passion
Hands bunch fiercely,
On the bedspread.
Screams echo loudly,
Perhaps it’s only in my head.
My fist pounds the mirror,
Not noticing the painful glass.
I can’t seem to shake this fear,
But no reaction is permanent enough to last.
Ripping every paper I own to shreds,
Tears running angrily down my face.
How could I have known where this path led?
Life never seems the right pace.
Shrieks erupt from my lips,
Loud enough for someone to hear.
My body shakes with angry fits.
It might draw someone near.
From where I lay,
Carpet is all I see.
Just another day,
Of trying to be anyone but me.
My voice shakes with things long
Pent up.
I can’t take solace in words or song,
I just want someone to look up.
Sitting quietly on my bed,
Eyes shut innocently.
All the things I would do rush in my head,
All the things I would do so violently.
Screaming, crying, learning to let go.
Burning, tearing, watching my life sink.
If only people could know,
These things are a lot harder than you’d think.
Sitting quietly on the bed,
Fingers clasping a gentle ration
Of cloth as I see all these things in my head,
Things I’d do,
If I only had the passion.
But I don’t,
I am too kind they all say,
I won’t,
So I can’t cause harm that way.
Always the good child,
Never one to be sad.
Always so mild,
No fury to be had.
Sitting quietly,
Always so alone,
Fuming silently,
Never totally at home.
Other people are allowed to scream,
But not the good child.
Other people are allowed to overreact,
But never the good child.
Throwing plates and accusing every
Person in sight.
These are the things in my reveries,
To get me through the night.
Suffering all alone,
Receiving little compassion.
Never totally at home,
Thinking about all the things I’d do,
If I only had the passion.
If I only weren’t the good child, so calm and mild.
Never wild.
Never without a smile,
And there in a pile,
Are all the things I’d do if I only had
The passion.


© Copyright 2017 Rosalie Lavoie. All rights reserved.

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