She sits by her bedside
Notebook of poems full.
They're her fading bits of sanity
Screaming "get me our of this bull."
They're her silent falling tears
From her pain and aggravation.
Her truth remains untold
The hidden words of frustration.
Days spent lost and afraid
Empty, scared, alone.
Trapped in a world
She didn't want to call her own.
She kept a book
Words contradicting itself.
I don't care
It's all lies.
Yes, I care
Tell me why.
I hate
I love
I don't know
Wrapped in confusion
Not knowing left from right.
She sits and writes those poems
Into the dead of night.