Hey y'all!! I've been in the deepest rut of my life but I'm BACK! I'm on medication and on the incline so I wrote this today after doing some shadow work and wanted to put it somewhere so enjoy!
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TWs: Mental health, mentions of blood, implications of self harm, bad family situations, and suicide (let me know if I missed anything)
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I write my trauma in calculated sentences; structured poems so others are attracted to the message it bellows.
Because the only pain that people pay attention to is printed art and pretty melodies
They don't pay mind unless it's appealing to the eye.
You can wail and struggle and pound the rubble of your shatter mirror until your fist grow bloody; but if your cries are out of tune, your thrashing too violent, and the gore of your injured knuckles are too graphic for their bright eyes;
It would do you well to pray the floor is enough to ground you when you get to the bottom.
Heaven knows the ones up on solid ground will cringe away from the pit you left in your wake.
But they won't fill it up and cover it with concrete pavement and dazzling daisies just yet.
They'll purse their lips and chastise you for being so careless and disorganized for falling in the first place.
Telling you it comes from a place of concern and love.
Saying they understand your diagnosis whilst gagging at your symptoms.
When you decide you're done being the Atlas that holds up the heavens that shine on them.
When you finally tell them you've stepped in the cement, the daisies are dying, you've used up the last of the last of the cotton candy chapstick you begged for when you were young;
They mirror the state you've been trapped in for years.
They screech that you're selfish; crying for themselves.
"How could you do this to us?!"
They struggle to comprehend just what could have you in such condition; blaming themselves for the sake of fellow feeling
"What could possibly be SO. WRONG?! Haven't we given you enough?! Haven't we taken care of you??? Haven't we loved you enough??
Why??!?!
Why??
Why.
"How could you do this to us?"
They pound at the door of the only place that felt like home in the entire house. The first time they dare to fall into the void you've found twisted solace in.
"....."
Now they're finally parallel to you.
They'll know how it feels to cry with true emotion as they're forced to mourn person who they've never came to see in hospice.
They'll sob at the service and wonder how they never saw it coming. They'll tell the others you never showed any signs. They'll say they wished they could've been there to help.
They'll spend the rest of their life garnering sympathy from yours. The warmth that was meant for you has just missed its stop again.
What a shame you're not there to grieve for it.
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Stories Of The Subconscious
Short StoryBlurbs I thought of when I was supposed to be doing something productive that I wrote down so I wouldn't forget.
