Beautiful people
From our highs to our lows to when our self-esteem needs a tow. A tow from breaking down in the middle of the race, oh how I look at at how far I’ve come from that place. I used to see splashes of black, streaks of red, how waking up is what I used to dread. Living is breathing, dying is to dream and depression is a little in between. Between a nightmare and a breath, living only to expect death. Death at my door, let me put on lipstick it’s time to score. I tried to pull myself up and slowly I grew out of this rut. I became a rising tree from a slowly dying, but alive little seed. I grew from my pain knowing that what I went through wouldn’t be in vain. I push and I push, here I am close to who I need to be, no longer hiding behind the OLD me. This is just the beginning of my recovery!
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Dear Anxiety
Dear anxiety, Why won’t you let me be you came with sadness making a home inside me. You rearranged it so happiness was hard to reach, I opened up my door and there you both were depression and anxiety standing in front of me. I face my fears, I’ve been running for too long can’t you see. I got bruises on my feet, scrapes all over me. At times I wanna be six feet under away from the voices that sound like thunder, I hide underneath my bed from the monsters inside my head as I sleep with the misery I cuddle in my bed. Can’t you see it’s hard for me, yeah it’s hard for me and it would hard to be me. I try to lock my door but you slip beneath the cracks as my scream brakes the glass, now it’s all over I can’t hide anymore. I try and run again, but I lost all my friends, so I have no one to turn to. Dear anxiety can you give me a break, I promise to play with you on all of my breaks. Breaks from reality in to my little world cuz your my only friend that sees how my mind twirls.
By Britts world5 years ago in Poets
A Love Forboding
The chipped stone slope caused unbearable footing. I slid, skirting on my heels. I cast my shield, relinquishing my guard to stay upright. Left with my double-edge and a prayer to the maker, I skated toward my objective. The earthly stubble gave way to solid ground. I found myself restored, a trail of dust in my wake.
By James U. Rizzi7 days ago in Fiction
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