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Hailey Duggirala

United States

I set my eyes heavenward but all I saw was sky. I guess you could say writing is my salvation, my lense, or any of countless metaphors- God knows I've used them all. My name is Hailey, and I hope someday I write something that changes your life.

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Anxiety~A poem

March 24, 2016

PROMPT: Open Prompt

0
Some nights, I don't sleep.
Some nights my mind is a casket
Crawling with regret,
Rotting.
Like the pieces of you
I refuse to remember.
Hoping they died with you,
That I will never be the person you were,
Though I swear sometimes I see your
Eyes in my own.
Cold and broken,
Hot and inraged.
And the chills crawl up my spine,
Suddenly nauseous.

Some night my mind is a clock.
Ticking,
Counting down the minutes before
Morning,
Questions.
Did I lock the door?
Did I check on my Anna?
What if I-
Hailey please,
we have been here before-
But Hailey, don't you see,
That's when the bad things happen-
Why can't I just sleep-
Where is my inhaler,
My heart is clenching,
My lungs are screaming,
Where is my inhaler?
And I know an anxiety attack only
Lasts for 15 minutes,
But some nights,
I don't sleep.
There are days when I can't help
But remember.
I'll read a news story,
About this wacked out family,
No one is the comments section
Can believe exists,
But then again, that's what I used to think about the families I saw on TV-
Functionality wasn't something you ever made seem realistic, but I know crazy when I see it,
Sometimes,
I see it
In the mirror.
Poets romanticize
Insanity,
Make your bipolar seem like
The weather,
And grow flowers of my anxiety.
What they don't see is your empty
Eyed beer bottle nights,
A 7 year old girl hiding in the bathroom
At two in the morning as her parents fight,
Except it wasn't really fighting when you were the only one throwing punches,
And momma took it like the angel
She is,
But I still see her look lost
After all these years, because
There's no abusive tyrant to
Direct her,
So excuse me if I do not
Call you a beautiful storm
Pardon my rudeness, but
To me you will never be the victim,
Because I have 3 faces-
One that might belong just to me,
If I give it time,
One that has crazy in her eye,
And if that isn't bad enough,
Some days I'm still
That little girl in the bathroom,
And I know
It's been years
But I still feel the relief ,
Every time I read one of those articles,
Because that could have been me,
And sometimes I panic just thinking about it-
Another thing,
I'm always thinking.
I can't turn it off.
I replay the same conversation in my head
A thousand times,
Until it loses meaning.
I learned to keep secrets in the
Spot right inside everyone's left ear,
Whispers of confidence,
Because if these thoughts don't stop they are going to kill me-
Sometimes I think it is going to kill me.
Maybe they only paint lilies of my
Anxiety is
Because they know that one day,
I'm going to drown in the weight
Of all this thinking,
And all they will have left are
chewed down fingernails
too short
For polish,
Buttons I chewed off sweaters,
Holes in arms when I
Inevitably ran out of
Buttons,
The echo of cracking knuckles.
These are not beautiful-
These are the habits of the can't sit still.
Mind churning.
Heart thundering.
These are the
I can't be alone with myself
I can't be alone with anyone
I can't find my inhaler
Where did they all go
Where is my inhaler
Gasping for air
Hysterical
These are not the habits of the beautiful,
But you are a poet,
And thus lilies take the place of beautiful words I will never say.

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  • March 24, 2016 - 1:03am (Now Viewing)

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