When the demons come out to play
It is not what you may think
They don’t wait for darkness or rain
But can appear when the skies are pink.
The demons can hide so easy
Popping in and out of her head
Showing her these crazy images
And telling her she’s better off dead.
These demons are very sneaky
They seem to make a bargain or deal
To make her think what she is feeling
Is all starting to become real.
But these demons can go to waters
That have not been stirred in a while
Even if the pain grows older
It still starts to affect her smile.
These demons live in everyone
Their destruction knows no bounds
But our only hope of surviving them
Is to remember help can be found.
You cannot rush healing. No matter how much you want out of this fucking nightmare, the only way out is through.
Her soul is shattered. There is no maybe’s about that. She no longer sees the rebirth about this – feeling the pain from the edges of the shattered glass stabbing a little deeper each time.
The difference between chosing to get better and actually becoming better is an immeasurable gap. Trying and failing time after time.
Feeling like a failure with every criticism. A lost feeling like you missed your stop on the train.
And she feels so fucking shattered inside, but outside she smiles while her fire slowly loses spark. Hoping someone will see past that – but she remembers she is alone in this.
No one is coming to save her. She will put her own damn pieces back together. Than she pauses, sits down and cries. Holding the pieces of her shattered soul; not knowing if they can ever fit together again.
Why is it…
We try and we try,
To fit in a box
Without knowing why?
We strive to be normal,
But what does that mean?
Pretending to be someone,
With our true self unseen.
Forming a persona,
That seems picture perfect.
When we should ask ourselves,
Is this all worth it?
Keeping our demons –
From coming to play
Because of the worry,
That we may scare you away.
Inside we are cracking,
If only more people noticed,
The split in each piece.
We try to pretend,
That it can be true:
Our life is “normal”,
We can be just like you.
At this moment, she has not one word that can define the emotions overflowing her heart or mind.
She has no words to describe the sensation beyond numbness she feels.
It is so much more than despair and brokeness.
But what, she does not know.
This journey is a difficult one and she is alone in it. That terrifies her.
She was lost. Her thoughts turned to mush and any form of clarity had left her.
She tries to write but lacks the inspiration to express her own desolation.
She is a lost girl. She relies on no one to reach out to catch her as she falls, she accepts her bed as it vibrates from absorbing her weight in the embrace that is all to familiar.
She can no longer stand the sound of silence. So she stands at the sink, listens to music, and tears stream down her hollow face.
Someday this will be behind her, at least that’s what she keeps telling herself. But right now – she is lost. If only someone would notice.
She has been searching for herself. Tearing open the inside shell of her exsistence. Coming back to the surface empty handed time after time.
In the complete re-evaluation of her being, she has become self destructive. The reflection of her image is unrecognizable. She hears her voice but does not identify with it.
She knows now that no matter the depth or extent of her search she will never find what she is looking for.
She will never retrieve the part she wants. It is lost forever in the abyss of the universe and, maybe, it is supposed to be that way. But it wasn’t until now she could comprehend the feeling she will never get that piece back again. The part that died within herself that day. She will never be the same.
People are like trees.
Some big, some small, some worn from bearing the weather, others slowly dying from the inability to adapt to their environment for lack of support or disease.
But, when you see the trees that are worn, growing slanted from the harsh conditions they faced – refused to give up. Instead, they accept the situation. They push on and grow in a way that is unlike the rest. This does not mean they are broken, not at all, it shows the drive for survival.
These are the traits to look for in people. In special instances, these leaning trees are able to find another tree to lean on.
The beauty surrounds the leaning trees and people alike for overcoming deterioration.
When you have this support, they don’t care if you are an evergreen, a birch, a maple, or a Scottish pine. No, they only care that they are able to help support you until you can grow on your own again.
Hold on to these people. The people who appreciate the beauty in the broken. These are your people – they are your home.