Solitude, the thing that most people fear of.
To be alone with our thoughts and emotions is too much for us to handle
yet,
every time I return back into these 4 walls, solitude greets me at the door
It wraps itself around my tiny body, covering every inch, and leads me to my deep, endless slumber.
The demons that taunt me through the day are the ones that whisper lullabies in my ear,
The damage I mark upon my skin are paintings that transfer into my dreams,
paintings that nobody can understand but myself.
They run away from solitude, avoiding any chance to be with their own flaws.
People who stand alone are much stronger than those hiding in groups,
afraid to seek themselves in a different light.
I want to be free within my dreams,
fantasies that are too real yet fall short inside of reality.
Life is about growth, and I tend to see growth as a flower,
being through the rigorous dirt that covers them whole,
drowning through the tears of the earth,
and to bloom ever-so-wonderfully.
Flowers are stuck within their own solitude and they grow at their own pace,
not afraid for what the world will say;
about their colors, about their height, anything except the incident in which they went through.
Going through months of darkness, of pure solitude,
to be hidden from the world,
to be earth's little secret
just for them to be plucked from the surface.
Having gone through those things myself, I wish not to be plucked from the surface.
Yet every time I walk in-between these 4 walls,
solitude greets me, caresses me, and with one swift kiss,
the darkness of the room intertwines with my eyes,
and I am given the sweet taste of what the after-life.
Solitude, my old friend, nice to see you once again,
they run from you
yet
It seems like I can't get enough from you.
YOU ARE READING
My Story
PoésieLife has been a constant rollercoaster. I've struggled with properly dealing and healing from traumas but writing has and will continue to be my primary outlet of such emotions. Enjoy and never forget, life moves on.
