Just once, she wanted to turn off the static in her mind.
Never knowing silence because all she ever knew was noise.
The voices in her head were so loud and unkind
She was useless when her parts weren't being used as toys.
Hoping for a day, she could feel comfortable inside her own skin.
Drugs and alcohol were her form of medication. But the voices in her head would always win.
And when she could no longer cope; that silver blade became her dedication.
A nightly ritual that left a release.
Eventually, it became something far worse.
No longer when she was searching for peace.
It became an addiction; a witch's curse.
She didn't have a reason when she was treated right.
He didn't like the way she inflicted the pain on her flesh, so eventually, she stopped even when the witch's curse put up a fight
But deep down, the scars remained unseen,
Not just on her skin but in her soul, it is still unclean.
She learned to mask the ache with smiles and grace,
Yet shadows lingered, etched in every trace.
She found new ways to cope, to pretend,
But healing was slow, and the struggle didn't end.
Though love surrounded her, she still felt alone,
Fighting a battle only she had ever known.
Yet with each passing day, she grew a little more,
Her strength was hidden, but she found it at her core.
For even cursed witches can find their way,
To break the chains and see a brighter day.
YOU ARE READING
Reflections of a Struggling Soul
PoetryThis powerful collection of poems takes readers on an intimate journey through the depths of a woman's struggle with mental health challenges. Written with raw honesty and vulnerability, these verses give voice to her inner turmoil, aching lonelines...
