The more in touch I am with all the parts of me
The less in touch I feel with reality
The more I regain my memory
The less it seems to once have been reality
And the more I immerse myself in reality
The more I feel like a nobody
The harder I try to return to reality
The further I seem to stray away from my sanity
Because for eighteen years I've lived with the reality
That I can't know what it's like to be carefree
Because my reality has not been the real reality
And I had no chance to know how else life could be
Crying underneath the Christmas tree
That was my reality
Not knowing what's meant by a Me
That was my reality
Hiding in the shadow of the old oak tree
That was my reality
Being broken in totality
That was my reality
I feel out of touch with reality
Because I'm detaching from what I always took for reality
I feel like I'm slowly losing all sense of reality
Because I'm replacing it with a new reality
There is a possibility
To find a second life in that reality
And I think there's a high probability
That I'll like this new reality
☆
Photo:
As a small child, I used to look through glass prisms and "diamonds"; I used to put multiple mirrors together for a similar effect; I collected kaleidoscopes, all to see the world fractured into a Hundred small realities. I used to imagine shrinking down and diving in to reach some other world.
I took this picture through a kaleidoscope with small beads inside, but I also still have one that distorts your actual surroundings.
YOU ARE READING
It does get better.
PoetryPeople say it will get better. But to be fair, most of them never were in your place. They say you will get happy again, but how can they know? I've struggled with trauma, mental illnesses, and self harm for many years. These are (mostly) poems - ab...
