THE GIRL I USED TO BE PTSD Among the cluttered archives of my pondering Lie the memories of a girl who I used to be, My eyes alight, Radiant as the sun, But my figure grows dim, With every breath thats drawn. The inquiring minds question lie eternally quiet My hearts inner strength quietly accrued, The insistent cruelty claims my will as its prize, embedding its hatred into my deepest confines, Riddled with conflict, despair, and my recent host. My identity peals my former self is now like a ghost. As I cling to the memories of what once innocence I had a searing pain streams through me as I mourn. This girl is pure as rain It is now all gone I resolved, self-assurance Will, and life all won. Won by a cruelty too often given on the timid Teased and criticized, abused by critique Judgment weighs on my slight frame The weight of the world... I am to blame She loves on in spite of her imminent demise Rendered by those I loved so deeply. With once my bright eyes The eyes reflect on this tattered soul The eyes that grow dim as she will never be whole Damaged and beaten by life itself The irony is uncanny The toll it has taken is so real This shell keeps going A outsider she is now The opposite of a corpse She is now the living dead Why her heart continues beating or blood flows through her veins Why she draws in breath Or why she even has a name... Is a questioning plea for someone to reclaim. The girl I used to be
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 12:30:40 +0000
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