When I Fidget in Silence
The meditation of panic
I know it in my chest
first. the breadth of
my heart fades back into
its physical boundary. beats
rumble against my breast
with the same intensity
they used to resonate
with the world. I catch
my breath and strangle it
until oxygen is diffused by
my lungs. shortness of breath
is to feel that something is
searching for Sun inside me
because the strobe of my
quickening gasps bring less
illumination than epilepsy
and the sight of the door
before the greater world flickering
out of existence like some
stop motion solar eclipse
causes seizures that send
this tortured something
crashing into my ribcage
at one, now, nearly two
hundred beats per minute
because my chest is
too full to nurture anything
but blood that thrums delirium
and this frenzied S.O.S
is the only way it can
relay its claustrophobia.
and since Hollywood lied
about the need for
bite block and strap
I do not have to
worry about my tongue
which I let rip through
whatever cautiously edges
into the border of my
internal focus. the stimulus
is too nauseating to swallow
when this malnourished need is
clawing at my viscera.
scarring the lock on
what is visceral within me
into disrepair and
I’m afraid to release
the howl my throat grips
tighter than any treasure
because I already know
Pandora’s Truth and refuse to break
the sound barrier with the force
of my cries for silence and peace
because my spirit will not
crumble with everything I’ve built
and there is no relief in knowing that
I am the epicenter of destruction
endless miles around me.
So, if I am
Quietly absorbed in
Playing with some
Mundane thing then...
Let me be.
About the Creator
Stratusfier
I love improving at crafts that lead to strong relationships and impact in my community. The difficulty of being neurodivergent is the toil of working constantly for understanding. For myself and others. I hope to be a bridge for that work.
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