My own chest seizes at the sound of sobs

Watching rose petals fall from their stems with ease

Remember 

How a touch of sweat will form ink globs

At the place where my hand holds an unopened acceptance letter

There isn't much I can do to relax my anxieties

But Putting together phrases that outline my breathing patterns 

Seem to put my shaking hands at bay

However the poems I write aren't solely selfish 

I write for misunderstandings

I write for people who crumble at the flick of a glare

I write for the passion that changes the way I think about honeybees for the rest of my life

Listen to the silence of a person holding back the phrase, 'I told you so'

look for the physical lift in a broken soul's newfound hope

All of the heavy emotions 

They give voice to the tear-soaked jacket shoulders, frantic chewed pens, torn marriage certificates, shredded prom dresses

Who comes to mind when you think about smiles?

Who comes to mind when you think of screams?

Channeling feelings in a good way is difficult

And there are only so many ways to find speech after devastations and 'goodbyes'

First hand to heartbreak and secondhand to suicide

There aren't a lot of emotions I don't feel

I'm grasped with these emotions and until I share them

The root of my suffocation

I'm breathless

Writing is my inhaler

This is my asthma attack