By Sophia Cvetkovic
I was born with anger built in,
red-faced and screaming
as I left my mother’s womb.
I never was able to breathe properly;
the air tasted of a bitterness
I couldn’t quite choke down.
When you live in an angry house,
you think the world is just as mean,
just as sharp, only to find out it is you,
just you and your stupid anger,
so intense it can only be natural.
I am back in the house
and I am seven years old,
childlike fright turning to rage
as the walls of my room begin
to crumble; my mother is still kicking,
I think she is screaming but it is something more guttural.
I wonder if I will stop breathing tonight.
I sleep in the rubble again.
My mother is always burning;
something leaks from her palms,
something leaks from mine.
There is soot on all the walls,
spreading like sickness;
I think it will never fade
and I will forever be this cursed blade.
In my head I am always this child,
boarded up within the flames of my angry home,
lulled to sleep by bitter, biting words
that sprout from the floor like lava.
In my head I am always looking out
into the backyard,
freezing over like the lake.
I am glazed in fury.
Will it ever come out?
Will it ever come out?
The nest has caught fire;
the mother has fled;
the child remains bloodied and red.
–
Sophia (she/her) is a 17 year old high school student from South Florida. She is an aspiring English major and spends most of her free time writing songs and poetry. You’ll also find her watching gut-wrenchingly sad shows, reading fantasy books, and practicing guitar.
Diamond Gazette 