It's hard to talk about what's wrong.
It's hard to say what hurts, how long it's hurt for.
It's hard to explain the symptoms .
I can't explain nothing is wrong; but nothing feels right.
I can't say my heart hurts my whole body, like a sharp ache that never leaves.
I can't say I've been hurting lately when it's years of days blurring together.
I can't explain my symptoms when all of my parts are made of my symptoms.
Stuttering, shaking, scratching, and choking.
Picking, panicking, pacing.
Drowning in dry land.
Freeze, break, repeat repeat repeat; day after day, year after year, until all my life is made of what broke my pieces
-shattered porcelain
YOU ARE READING
Writing Until My Soul Recovers
PoetryI'm seventeen with more trauma than most my age. I haven't cut in five months but I'm struggling. My mental health is struggling and it's hard because I'm in recovery from something. But not my big problem. I'm still struggling with that and I was t...
