A time to vent is difficult to find,
Thoughts held captive by my mind.
Some things are better left unsaid,
As chaos rolls about in my head.
For years I’ve searched for the key,
As of yet nothing works for me.
A prisoner I feel to this disease,
Self control I use so no one sees.
Inside I feel like I’m a mess,
Forever wishing I’d worry less.
Coping skills I have a few,
They factor into everything I do.
From this prison I wish to be released,
No one cares even the least.
If I am quiet there is a reason why,
My thoughts make me a not nice guy.
Jill L. Ware
Our Roses Were Yellow 