Yes, I'm doing better.
But there are still those days.
Those nights where I can't move.
I'm strapped to my bed.
My mind struggles.
My heart aches.
My skin pleads.
It's all a reminder that it takes time.
Time to feel better.
To see yourself differently.
To want to be fine.
To know there's hope.
It all takes time.
I try my hardest not to suffer.
But sometimes that's all I can do.
Lay in bed for days.
Let my body, mind, and heart ache.
Bend.
Crack.
Break.
And mend all over again.
Over and over.
Until I realize I can't mend myself on my own.
I need something bigger.
Something better.
More powerful than I.
But what?
God?
The one that left me to die.
To rip myself apart.
I may look fine on the outside.
But oh God have you seen my insides?
They're bruised, cracked, tattered, and no longer wanting to be apart of me.
They fly out my mouth as an explanation.
Explaining they've given up.
My own body has given up on me.
My own heart doesn't even beat for the right reason.
My own mind doesn't think for me anymore.
All I have are my lungs.
Inhaling.
Exhaling.
But for how long?
YOU ARE READING
My Mind.
PoetryNo one is quite fixable. We just need to find the beauty in our ugliness. That will be how we overcome this world.
