The first time it hit me,
I was eight years old.
I loved the world,
but society said, "No."
It said no to living
just to live my life.
Now where my heart stood,
there rests a knife.
And when it twists
with those words of hate,
I let it bleed
while I open the gate
'til the color seeps
into the earth
and I let it nurture
my growth and rebirth.
For if hatred
causes pain,
then through love
there is gain.
So the message
I'll spread,
'til the day
I am dead,
is that when
you're upset
don't give up
just
yet.
YOU ARE READING
Ghostwriter
PoetryLiving with mental illness can oftentimes trap one within the inner maze of their mind. In that place, dreams, fears, wishes, and regrets all compile together to create a new world far from the one we physically exist in. At times, it becomes easy t...
