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  • Writer's pictureRabby

Pent Up

If my body were a museum of feelings

and I let you in, you just might see what I want you to see.

if you asked about it, you’ll not get the real picture either.

If you let yourself in, you may lose yourself in its walls

But once you’re inside, here’s what you’ll find:

Worry. Anxiety. Confusion. Fear.

They should be the first things you’ll see.

Worry has littered every street of my mind,

And I’m oblivious to when and where it comes from.

It’s just always been there.

Anxiety has caused raucous at each point, proving I will never be satisfied with the future until it is present.

Confusion has wrapped up my thoughts, mixing up street signs and burning up land marks in my mind.

Fear. It has paved my mind’s streets with thick hard tar – smooth and frustratingly consistent.

If my body were a museum of feelings, these should come first. But they won’t.

Hopelessness. Insecurity. Anger. Uncertainty. Passion.

These five have opened and closed each chapter of my life.

This body has written stories and acted dramas to appease these emotions.

It has hopelessly yielded to insecurity time and again, and its a cycle of passionate exploits that incite anger and uncertainty.

If my body were a museum of feelings, these shouldn’t be hard to find. They gathered the most spoils and made the most memories.

But you may not see it there.

Happiness. Hope. Peace. Love.

They’ll be the first to find.

They’ll be the most ancient pieces.

They’ll be the ones with little to show.

They’ll be the least understood.

And the least discovered.

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