It's been six years
since I first thought
about not being here-
about ending the pain.
I'm still here.
Breathing.
But I don't know if
that counts as living.
These years-
they weren't days I lived,
they were battles I endured.
Every sunrise was a war.
Every smile,
something I forced
so no one would ask.
I whispered to myself,
"Just this once.
Just one more day."
Again.
And again.
And again.
They call me strong,
but they never saw
the nights I begged the stars
for an exit,
or how I carried my body
like a weight I didn't choose.
I'm tired
of being resilient,
tired
of earning survival
like it's a prize.
I don't want to fight today.
I don't want to be brave.
I just want to be-
without hurting,
without pretending.
I just want to rest.
Not forever.
Just long enough
to feel
like I'm more than
what I've survived.
YOU ARE READING
Trapped in my own head
PoetryShe is an outcast. She finds it easier to express what she feels in the form of writing. Whether it is poems, letters or long texts. These are poems that she writes trying to describe how it feels to live with certain mental health issues, in a worl...
