Alone

My 1500th poem.

Seated

Amidst the masses

In a mobile prison

Of metal and glass.

 

Where

Space becomes

A premium

Given to none

During rush hour.

 

Each
Centimeter surrendered
From my personal space
My anxiety level
Skyrockets.

Fighting
The panicky impulse
To run away.

Instead
Turning inwards myself

On the subway seat

Curling up

Into a fetal position.

 

People turn

A willingly blind eye

The developing crisis

Before them.

 

Burying

Themselves

In their own concerns

And lives.

 

As

I find myself

Drowning

In a sea of humanity

With no one

Able to save me.

Author's Note

Originally written January 12, 2013. This was sparked by a conversation that I had, why I don't use transit during rush hour, during a support group for depression, at a local hospital.

Reviews

[An Ordinary Woman]

there something quietly different about this one, from a poetic point of view.
You are growing as a poet Therisa. This is very good!

[therisa]

Thank you, Tamara, for your glowing words, on the growth of my writing skills.