I've already gone through enough storms. My boat broke for a million times due to the waves of self-doubt and self-inflicted pain. I've rotated the pieces of my brain from sunset to sunset just to find and focus on the good view of this damned life. Ask my storms how I manage to withstand them 'cause I don't have any hint how I can still flap my wings and fly despite of the gust and turbulent drops of rain. With all the emotional torture inflicted unto me, I deserve to cry. I do. I do.
Please don't call me weak. Please don't say that my braveness is not enough yet 'cause you don't know how much I pressed and stretched myself for a long period of time, over and over again just to make myself big enough to hug atleast the half of this pain's wholeness. I may not be brave in front of your very eyes because I cower over the things that are 'small' for you but I am brave in front of my old self. I am. I am.
-voice of the belittled brave
YOU ARE READING
Constellation
PoetryHere lies the speck of words orbiting in my own galaxy that was once lost but finally found its own constellation.
