To Those Who Persecute Me For Resting

By: Herliterary

“In defense of my stillness,”

I said in-between nail biting

While my name slips seamlessly

In-between different stories.

In-between paintings.

Always followed in the night.

.

I choose to lay but get berated

By my prosecutor; once my therapist.

They imprison me

In a place of supposed security

As they clamor, “Persecute her!”

So I tiptoe in between cracks of gossips.

Always hiding, my breath stiffening.

.

Stuck in a frozen response,

I loathe to fulfill my return,

Dizzy on how to face the crowd

without shame.

Guilty on how to take the crown

without spitting on my name.

.

“In defense of my stillness,

Why are there glares for my isolating?”

I said in composure,

Burying the urge to run my lungs ragged,

Biting my tongue from pointless arguments

Made by supposed professionals.

.

My mental health ceases to exist

When it comes to the academe.

When it comes to a community

Supposed to understand me.

My mental health ceases to matter

When it burdens their own.

.

To those who persecute me for resting,

Sit uncomfortably with your false virtues.

Continue preaching with fervor

While I sit in silence, knowing your truth,

And wait as you fall from prioritizing sanity when it only concerns you.