Poetry

Untitled

Writing is difficult most of the time these days.
I drained myself of words.
Things I should have said and the secrets I bury.
It's like I dumped my soul into a box and froze it.
It started with pain and the suffering was almost unbearable.
I don't know what happened.
One day I just stopped talking.
Stopped thinking.
I'm learning to leave this adaptation behind.
Sometimes people ask me questions about my past and it's like my thought hit a brick wall.
It's there, there's a definite response as well but how do I reach it.
I put my pain so far back into my brain I can barely touch it.
Some might say that sounds like a good thing.
It took everything from me, no love left for me.
I stopped suffering finally and realized I didn't feel anything.
Heartbreaking feeling to feel like a stranger to your own self.
It took a long time to be where I am.
To feel the love I have for myself.
It needs improvement but it's amazing how far it has come.
Unable to love and be loved.
How it was.
Emptiness lingers, I feel a bad feeling and I brush it off.
It is what it is.
I've experienced what I've experienced.
Hope to come back to it one day to remember.
Why would anyone wanna remember such horrible things?
I was crafted in these traumas and my suffering.
It's like keeping a secret from yourself and your begging to hear it.
Unattached to my own beating heart.
The saddest love story between heart and soul.