There is This Bizarre Silence

In life, many people have expressed their concerns with me about understanding why we feel like they live in solitary confinement. This poem exemplifies and hopefully portrays relatable content.

There is this bizarre silence

as my eyes move,

left to right

despite my awareness of sound

I still can't hear the pandemonium.

Is this confinement, imprisonment

or are my senses just non-vigilant?

Imagining I'm cornered 

with minimal chance to elude,

fractures my psyche

and kills my mind's aptitude.

I want to hear the hope

and attend to sound,

to look up above the clouds

rather than stare towards the dormant ground.

I'm not a skeptic 

and I'm not just curious,

I'm furious

as to why I'm cornered, trapped

in this abstract atmosphere

full of people who can't hear me.