All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Immune to Tears
I run away from my problems
I distract myself,
whether through
media,
music,
other people’s problems.
I divert my eyes
I chase away my train of thought.
My tears are reabsorbed before they fall.
Sobs of sorrow and terror hide in my hollow throat.
My weak energy does not drain.
Nothing happens in the eye of the spectator.
My life appears to be normal and unconcerning.
I claim to wear navys and blacks for the look
not really the depression.
The eye of the spectator does not notice my sighs
slight shakes,
representing the pain and the disownment of that pain occurring in my head.
Sometimes I’m too feeble to cry
or too numb
or already emotionally drained
or I tell myself I don’t deserve to cry
Toxic masculinity
in a girl.
Other days I find it in me to cry
to sob
to grief
to have thoughts that aren’t banished away.
Those days seem rare.
My depression is captivated within now.
It’s part of me
that both haunts,
and creates immunity.
The immunity is not complete in its protection,
for a Band-Aid cannot protect against
the jab of a knife.
A slick, speedy stab.
The pain will dive deep,
but the immunity will kick in
so it doesn’t hurt anymore
My mind knows what to do.
I’ve learned it better than breathing.
Don’t feel the stab of the knife.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.
I wrote this when I was supposed to be asleep. Much of my best writing happens in the midnight hours.