That fear that you breathe in,
the sadness you lay your head on,
they're all an illusion.
Your house is not on fire anymore.
I repeat your house is not on fire.
YOU ARE READING
Purple blush
Poetry''Everything you did to me, I remember. Mama, I made it out of your home alive, raised by the voices in my head. '' -Warsan Shire, Extreme girlhood
Trauma-PTSD
That fear that you breathe in,
the sadness you lay your head on,
they're all an illusion.
Your house is not on fire anymore.
I repeat your house is not on fire.
