One by one,
I pulled the pins
out my limbs
'til there were none.
Two by two,
I took the knives
out my eyes
since I could move.
Three by three,
I snatched the bolts
out my throat
since I could see.
Four by four,
I picked the glass
out my back
since I could roar.
Five by five,
I dusted off
what they called soft
so I could rise.
Six by six,
I drew my lines
and learned with time
that I exist.
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...
