Where is she going, that wayward child?
Will she wake up compliant or will she stay wild?
Will she open her eyes or keep them closed,
refusing to see the thorns in the rose?
Will she freeze or will she explode?
Do you even care? Do I even care? Does she even care?
Is she observant or is she delusional?
Is she a servant or is she confused?
Is she dramatic or is she telling the truth?
Which side do you choose?
Do you believe her? Do I believe her? Does she believe her?
A fallen angel with broken wings and shattered dreams.
Smile in the light, tears in the dark.
The little ray of sunshine lost her spark
but no one sees that she's bleeding out.
With her stormy eyes, what has this child seen?
Who will she be at 17?
Has she broken? Is she broken? Isn't she broken?
Wait and see...We'll wait and see.
When I look in the mirror, I still see that 8-year old girl.
She couldn't be much clearer with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face.
She knows she's an inch from falling apart,
but she replaces the pain from behind her eyes,
stands back up, replaces her disguise.
And though I only saw it for a minute, I saw all the pain inside her heart
before she hid it away, before the light inside faded away.
She faded away.
YOU ARE READING
The Things We Don't Talk About
Poetry***Trigger Warning: Mental health, mental illness, eating disorders, suicidal ideation, self-harm*** A collection of poems delving into the dark side of the human experience. From high highs to low lows, emotion can be intense. And this collection s...
