WAR
I'm not wearing anything.
Not for me, and certainly not for anyone else.
The thousands of square inches of my skin
Have become a pitted and scarred battleground
That not even Eisenhower can conquer.
My internal organs – my greatest enemies.
They gang up, to play tricks on my mind.
People say that when two people feel real love,
They know that it's real.
What if I'll never know what's real?
What if I'm doomed to eternally stumble in the darkness,
Blindly feeling every love slip through my fingers?
It's common knowledge that snow is cold,
But I can't believe that.
Not until I thrust my hand into the drift,
Only removing it when the cold starts to burn
And my skin is a blistering red.
Only then do I believe.
It must be possible to win this war.
But each time I trust in a victory,
I find that the arrow I thought I had shot at the enemies
Had found it's way back to me, instead.
YOU ARE READING
Picking Up The Pieces
PoesíaAn anthology of poems written by me. The uploads will be in 2 parts. The Before is part 1, and The During and The After will be part 2. This is the story of my recovery from PTSD, An Eating Disorder, and Sexual Assault.
