My Bottle
March 10, 2021
My heart is a bottle made of glass.
Whenever feelings claw and tear at my throat
Instead of letting them free
I push them into the bottle.
Sometimes, however,
Sometimes
I get angry
When a dog barks too loud or when the door won’t close right
I turn red
I try to push the anger into the tiny bottle
But then the bottle cracks
And breaks
And all my emotions
race through my body.
I erupt
I lose myself.
My hands stiffen
My eyes blur with tears
And I noiselessly cry
And loudly sob
And softly weep
Until the bottle is empty
So I can start filling it again
And close myself up like a clam.
The Mirror intends for this area to be used to foster healthy, thought-provoking discussion. Comments are expected to adhere to our standards and to be respectful and constructive. As such, we do not permit the use of profanity, foul language, personal attacks, or the use of language that might be interpreted as libelous. Comments are reviewed and must be approved by a moderator to ensure that they meet these standards. The Mirror does not allow anonymous comments, and The Mirror requires a valid email address. The email address will not be displayed but will be used to confirm your comments.
If you want a picture to show with your comment, go get a gravatar.