Scream - A poem

That's what I want to do:

scream.

But I can't.

Everything:

Every sleepless night,

every tear, every cry of help,

all of these emotions,

all of this pain...

Has been reduced

to appearances.

That's why I can't scream.

Screams are powerful,

you know.

Many people can hear them.

Family, friends,

people who care

and people who don't.

People who can worry

about you.

That turn your problems

into theirs.

That's not fair.

I'll deal with this alone

That's why I can't scream.

Screaming hurts.

The pain that's freed

is enormous.

All at once.

Fast.

Unbearable.

Damaging my skin.

Damaging my soul.

Is it worth to let it out

if it's going to hurt me more?

I have to keep myself alive.

That's why I can't scream.

Scream,

scream,

screaming through words.

Can I let myself do that?

No,

because people always read.

People are always watching.

Silently,

waiting for you to break.

And you don't want them,

to see you, right?

So I keep silent.

I was reading this again and noticed something curious: this poem is about not being able to scream, not even through words.

But if you analise it, I actually screamed. I screamed about my frustration of not being able to scream. Isn't that stupid?

Conclusion: at some point, we all scream. Even if we don't intend to.

—Alex