I woke up clenching my fists, sometimes out of excitement, sometimes out of anger. 

I walked clenching my fists, being afraid of who might snatch me away.

I talked to distant relatives clenching my fists, knowing that if I didn't, I might let anxiety take over and say something wrong or punch them in the face.

I sat at the dining table clenching my fists, everyone was on their phones communicating with every other microorganism rather than the ones seated at the table. 

I attended class clenching my fists, wanting to answer a question but refrain from doing so because I was too afraid of making mistakes.

I showed up at social events clenching my fists, because why on earth was I there surrounded by people but not with them. 

I looked at the mirror clenching my fists, why do I look like that? Why am I here? 

I clenched my fists because that is the only way I thought I could handle all these feelings, all the anxiety, all the anger, all the loneliness.

I clenched my fists instead, because I thought no one will ever have the time or care to listen, and to for once in my life have them be on my side. 

I clenched my fists because I've been kept silent but yet I hoped someone noticed.

And one day, my hands just started to hurt and I clenched my fists no more.