It's no fault of mine that this was the life that I was borne into, but maybe I put too much weight on the circumstance of my being and not on the fact I can change, god gives free will but if I turn away, I can keep telling myself everything is out of my control, because when I don't put myself on the line I grant, the illusion that I am in control, lies drip from my lips like honey, soothing ragged gaping wounds, caused by my own hands, maybe when I wake up. When I wake up. Maybe when I wake up, it will all be over. Maybe I'll stand up for myself, against myself, but at least I'm taking a stand, learning to walk, after crawling on scrapped knees and hands, the calluses built up can still fade away, maybe in a world where acceptance is more weighty than judgement, I won't have to be so strong.
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After (2024)
NouvellesIt's a story about recovering from depression. My journey to stay happy after a long couple years. I write mostly poetry. If you want to read more about my struggles click my profile, I have one published story detailing my 2023 year. It's still har...
