The pain is always unheard
fed by a slashing word.
Piled one after another
no job but to smother.
To kill all feeling
with no hope of healing.
But the results are not seen;
you conscious is still clean.
My heart is broken
from the cruel words spoken.
Yet no one bats an eye
on the scars upon my thigh.
And it goes without recollection
the way my defection
has closed off who i am.
And no one gave a damn,
When i stopped participating,
and my focus began dissipating.
I'm not who i used to be
and it's plan to see,
When i take the time to pause,
to see what i was;
And appreciate who i am now
The world raises it's brow.
For surely I'm not allowed
to stand up be proud.
of what they have made me become.
YOU ARE READING
Spilled Ink
PuisiA collection of poetry written by myself over the years. Although no particular theme is intended, a lot of them seem to be depression based.
