Thursday

She sits there
In the corner. 
She coughs to
Get my attention. She is
Boring, and bored. 
I have nothing to say to her.

I have more
Things to mourn
About, and even more things
To go through. This life, 
Is not my own.

I have to stay awake between the lines
And dance here, sometimes there. 
However, even with those
Strings and lines
I do not smile.

Maybe one day
You'll be able to see the pain
In my eyes. 
You might be able to listen to
How the anger forces out hoarse screams
As I grit my teeth to silence my cry.

You might be able to touch my fingers
As they shiver, and watch me
As I clench my fist and
Twist the blanket to
Hold on to myself.

You will always hear
Voices and noises
In this family. 
None of these sounds belong to me. 
I am not really a storyteller. 
I have no stories, just sighs
That whisper in your ears and
Insinuate my sadness. 
Without another word, 
I drink the air
Of April in despair.

Dale Chou
2000-04-06