Nerves are boiling hot
inside my chest, it all cannot fit.
An escape through half-meant words
and in a false call for action.
I’m looking for the calm, cool
collected pieces of normalcy.
They do not come together, instead are mismatched
and out of order.
But I’ll take them along, good or bad.
Just in case.
“In control” is the motto I push,
the exterior I present;
inside I’m drowning in “what-ifs.”
In a hoard of mistakes and regrets.
Measured: face, hands, body.
Disjointed: thought, feeling, and action.
This conflict buries me invisibly,
no weight that anyone can see.
This is the worst one.
How will I ever be an unfiltered me?
By: Caitlin Schemmer
Edited by: Seid Suleyman & Christie Vu
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