Brokenbutbreathing storie

The Woman Who Lived in Two Shadows is a psychological romance thriller that explores love, trauma, dual personality, and the fragile line between sanity and madness. This story contains dark emotional themes, mental health struggles, psychological conflict, and intense relationship dynamics. It is not meant for everyone. 👉 Reader discretion is advised. If you are uncomfortable with psychological depth, emotional intensity, or dark romance elements, please do not read further. This story does not glorify mental illness or violence. It is a work of fiction written to show how love, fear, and trauma can coexist in the human mind. No hate comments will be tolerated. Respect the story, the writer, and the sensitive theme. If you choose to enter this world, be ready to face love that bleeds, minds that fracture, and hearts that refuse to give up. - Because some women don't live one life... they survive in two shadows.

I've been drowning in a world that feels like it doesn't see me. Days blur together in pain, anxiety, and depression so heavy I can barely breathe. I've watched life slip through my hands, fought battles inside myself that nobody else even notices, and carried burdens that feel impossible to put down. I've been misdiagnosed, medicated into near nothingness, spiraled into darkness that almost claimed me, and yet here I am - still breathing. I've felt the pull of pills, substances, and moments so raw that every breath felt like a fight. I've been alone in small apartments, on blow-up mattresses, barely eating, barely moving, barely surviving. I've watched the system fail me, friends drift away, family stay distant, and yet still I fight. Every panic, every cry, every sleepless night - I've carried it all, and I write it down because someone has to see it. Someone has to feel it. This is a story of survival in silence, of battling inner demons nobody else sees, of raw, unfiltered truth. No edits. No sugarcoating. Just pain, struggle, hope, and the fight to exist in a world that feels like it wants me gone. If you've ever felt unseen, unheard, or broken, this is for you.

Poetry about the hardest things to admit.

This piece is a deeply emotional reflection written as a fictional encounter between the narrator and their younger self. Through tender dialogue and quiet revelations, it explores themes of lost innocence, unfulfilled dreams, trauma, and the quiet endurance of adulthood. Despite the weight of regret and grief, the narrator chooses to protect their younger self's hope-offering comfort through a gentle lie, reminding us that sometimes, mercy means preserving belief in a better future, even when you've stopped believing it yourself.

Grief isn't just sadness. It's a quiet storm that changes everything - the way you see the world, the way you feel inside, the way you connect with the people around you. Broken But Breathing is a raw and honest journey through the tangled emotions of loss, guilt, anger, and hope. Written with the voice of someone who's learning that healing isn't about forgetting, but about carrying love forward, one day at a time. For anyone who's ever lost someone and wondered how to keep going when the world keeps moving.

This is not a gentle poem. It's a knife - slow, silent, and unforgiving. A descent into the mind of someone who was drowning long before they ever touched the water. Every line bleeds with the kind of pain that's too quiet to be noticed until it's too late. It's about the final moment - not of death, but of realization. The regret. The horror. The scream that comes when no one is left to hear it. If you've ever felt invisible, if you've ever wanted someone to ask if you're okay and mean it - this poem is for you. Or maybe it's already about you. Now available in: English, Arabic, Spanish, French, Russian, Italian, and German. Requests for more translations are open - message me your language, and I'll make it happen. All rights reserved. © 2025 by _hailey_morgan_ No part of this poem may be copied, reposted, or reproduced without permission.

This isn't poetry for comfort. This is what survival sounds like when it's done bleeding quietly. This is for the people who were called strong because no one ever stayed long enough to help. For the ones who prayed, broke, sinned, healed halfway, and kept moving anyway. For the ones who got judged for how they survived instead of why they had to. I didn't come out clean. I came out alive. And if that makes me a hypocrite to people who never had to choose between drowning and breathing ugly, so be it. This is grief that learned how to stand. Faith that argues with God and still shows up. Love that wants connection but refuses to lose itself again. A heart that's tired of pretending healing is quiet or pretty. If you hear anger in this, good. If you hear truth in this, even better. And if this makes you uncomfortable, ask yourself why - because it wasn't written for applause. It was written because I'm still here. Still here. Still breathing. Still standing. Hypocrite.