How Suppressed To Feel As A Teenager

By Shreya Murasing 

 

How suppressed to feel as a teenager,
To not be able to draw a fathomable gesture,
To have to lift the face to shelter others’ excuses
Excuses, that are heartless, that are harsh for the teenager,
So harsh that they penetrate into his heart, his soul;
Destroying his social prestige, diurnal sleep, and mood.
His eyes search for his producers,
For the support that he thinks would walk him ahead,
But there is none, when it comes to his desire.
Desire, for a rest, for a break,
To forget everything, everyone and cut off from the outside realm.
The thicket, the abode of beautiful unknown species, is dark, impenetrable,
For its heart being voiceless, crying into the cacophony of negligent wild humans.
It dies, step by step, inch by inch,
As it is weak.
Weaker than the outer creatures know it to be,
Even it hasn’t a veil around it.
The heart strives to make a hole, to sprout a fringe out of it,
That is an endless wire of suppressed thoughts, emotions and cries.
Cries that are kept unheard, replaced with lavender smiles,
That are stored in a lair,
With the assistance of the free end of a cloth or a pillow.
And that is how his soul, trust, tryst with himself are rubbed, tortured, and killed.
That is how a delicate, immature, budding adult is shattered,
When he makes a mistake by exploring,
By venting things out that he shouldn’t; by letting his emotions and cries that he is to suppress.
And that is how his eyes lose the hope, the belief to see the slivers of the sun the other day,
The week later, the month later and finally, the year.


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