They know not of my anxiety,
The silent panic attacks
Thoughts screaming inside me
The softest whispers, hitting like rocks.
They know not of this identity
The poetic writer inside me
The one who embraced my insanity
And write down the thoughts forming randomly
They know not of this poetry
I am sneaking to write on my seat
My mind wandering elsewhere,
My thoughts going places.
They know not of these thoughts floating
For they remain oblivious,
Discussing heroes and history
While I’m making my own, right here on my seat.