A tremor shakes the vessels in my head

tightening around my skull until the water

drops from my eyes

and a ghost takes host of me.

My brown skin turns to cream

my lips too tight,

they turn a pale white.

I’ve cut off all blood flow.

Tongue is tied – trying not to offend

so I bend and keep it all in –

inside my chest my heart thumps

so loudly it could keep time for a band

I’ve no choice but to write it down

if it’s not out I cannot over come

this host,

this ghost of a person I become

To be heard,

to express, to de-stress in word,

to communicate my dissatisfaction here

rather than an oral reaction

This is why I write—

to lock up my demons.