I believe that there are two types of wounds in this world. The ones you can see; the black eyes, the bloody knees, the broken noses. The ones where your skin bruises over, your body oozes out blood, and your bones split into pieces. The product of angry fists, harsh concrete, and flying objects. The ones where you are rushed to hospitals, use up sick days, and take it easy. The ones everyone notices; the ones you can treat.
Then there are the other ones; the ones you can't see.These are the bruised souls, the broken hearts, and suppressed mind's. There are no sick days for when you can't get out of bed, not because snot is dripping down your face, but because the feeling of worthlessness is paralyzing your entire body, there are no band-aids big enough for old heartaches that rip open at 2am because that song came on, no pills that can free a beautiful mind from the bars forged of hatred. These are the wounds that come from the boy with warm chocolate eyes but a stone cold heart, from the disapointed sighs of your family as soon as you walk into the kitchen, from the words of every single person in the world shouting at you about how inadequate you are.
And yet, you live. You have endured countless heartache and opression, left all those wounds untreated, and yet you live. The world has thrown every knife its got at you, then took out the big guns and fired all those as well, and yet you live. You have survived so much, and you will survive so much more. And maybe, just maybe, once you're done surviving, you will be able to start living.
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Whispers From A Caged Bird
PoetryJust some poems from one trapped soul to another. IMPORTANT: Since my words are already censored in real life, I will not be censoring them here. I made the rating for everyone but beware, their will be mentions of some dark topics that may trigge...
