Inner Tempest
Inner Tempest
By Melissa Soule
Leland and Gray High School, Grade 9
It whirls within me,
A self-willed beast, devouring my entrails,
Yet I have no wish to stop the pain.
No. I am an indulging and incapable parent to a spoiled child, too fond of their sweets.
Instead of rebelling against this wild animal inside me, I urge it on.
I am the conductor of my own destruction.
I allow the decaying process to carry on.
The beast is merely an opponent to my mind in the blurred race to my wild thoughts.
The ultimate prize; a frozen sense of reality, faded grey and black at the seams.
All understanding, preparation, and rational thought flies from my head like a bird, and nestles in my swollen chest, impregnating my lungs with something a thousand times heavier than the life-giving air they desire.
That same bird is trapped, beating weakly at the confining cage my ribs create, shifting my very heart with its fury.
As I sit, and shakily pick up my pencil, so carefully sharpened,
My clothes, so lovingly chosen for luck,
My hair, brushed gently back, and pinned up in my favorite style,
Brushed away from my face, that should be confident, but is instead a solemn mask, far too pale, with lips red from nervous attention, and wide, staring eyes, their pupils pinpricks of fear.
And I sit silent as the test begins.
This one hour that so much depends on.
Yet I cannot move.
I am frozen, a living sculpture.
Immobile with the roiling mass within.
Smothered by my inner tempest.
