Glass shattered into a million pieces No matter how much patience, How much time, Or how much effort you put into it, You will never fix me. Then poof. Like magic. I'm a diamond. We all are.
Those socks are so Terrifying. Why? I can feel my insides Dying, Rotting. My stuffed animals are Crying Because I’m still Trying Still… Everything is Horrifying. Why?
I don’t know what to say. Disorganized thoughts. Auditory hallucinations. Paranoid delusions. It’s all still there. It’s hidden, But they pop out from Time to time. Say “hey, we’re still Here to Hurt you.” They say “listen, We still have Control.” “We’ll still pierce Your Soul.” Please leave me Alone. I’ll say “it’s really No big deal;” I’ll think “someone Help me heal.”
There is a war going on inside me. It looks like lions attacking each other, It feels like being electrocuted And set on fire in the same seconds. Sometimes there is a lull in the war-- A break in the battles-- An eerie nothingness. Everything is numb. I have yet to process the trauma. I have no feelings, other than A precarious curiosity of when the next perilous battle is, And of who will win, Or if there even will be a victor. Will the lions ever tire?
My corner of the world sleeps Mostly silent, subtracting the Sounds of snores and the cooing and crying Of the little ones. You may think it’s peaceful-- Not for long! There is a beastly storm coming, As soon as they wake up that is. If they never open their eyes, They’ll be too blinded to see the storm. Oh, But the violent storm is coming Either way. Only a few Of us see it coming. We will be prepared. We will wake up loved ones We will seek shelter, And we will survive. Open your eyes, and Save your lives. Get to safety now.
He was born good, But the world corrupted him. He was born good, But he let the world corrupt him. Don’t be like him, The bastard. Keep the good in your soul, Fight the darkness. Keep the good in your soul, Win the lifelong fight. That’s all living is: Virtue versus villain. You will make it, My sweet angel.
With terror I trust that I am talentless at writing, Though I believe it is what saved me, And that is my main reason for continuing. Still I worry that those who believed in me And my ability Were clueless or lying, and either way, If I am wrong for worrying about such things, I apologize for being so accusatory And for not believing in myself. I should know better. I should know It’s better to do the things I love, Even if my ability doesn’t exceed My Eiffel Tower expectations Especially at the beginning of the journey. Of course I’m no pro, I just started, But I’ve got the passion to persevere. How else will I get better?