Worth It

Worth It

By: Jaylin

It was one of those hopeless gray type of days.

The kind where the sun is hidden amongst the haze.

And the murmur of a friend is lost in the storm.

The type of tempest that can't abade, while it continuously swarms.

In which the gloom of  the voices inside my brain presently stays.

And there I stay seized in my head, confined to my brain, trapped in a maze.

I was a overlooked, overbooked, overtook sort of tired.

After a restless, three a.m noisy night sleep was all I truly desired.

But I wasn't just sleeptual tired, because my inner colors were drained.

It took every last bit of mental evaluation not to cry. My heart was truly strained.

I looked up from the safety of my bed and remembered the staggering text I received.

All I could do was embrace the stinging of a dull knife feeling it gave me, almost as if I disbelieved the truth that had overwhelmed me.

I was the shade of purple that a depressing anger originated from.

My exasperation came from a place of pure dejection from the outcome.

I could feel my throat starting to sore as I thought about screaming.

I wanted to ask "Why am I not good enough after so many years of redeeming?"

All I wanted after all this time was to be the Moon's number one.

But here I was being looked upon as a person rather than the Sun.

As the sunrise flowers of the morning day bloomed all I could see was the trace of sadness.

I had found comfort in the colorless rainbows that painted my day and embraced the blackness.

It's hard to learn that after years and months on end, that you weren't enough for someone.

That after so long of trying to be the best you could be, it just simply was useless in the long-run.

I could feel my stomach drop to the ground and my heart aching through pains of sad blue.

After all these years of having a best friend it was actually over, actually through.

I've been drowning in a deep monochrome depression,

And I've been secluded by a relentless unequity type of oppression.

I have complex feelings about myself and existence,

And I've tried to save myself through constant shadowing persistence.

I fear the thought of opening up my dreamy land, I call my brain, to another,

Mostly because it's been used tied against me, and honestly I only truly trust my brother.

Crimson broken and jaggedly torn.

I've been called a rose, but I'm actually a thorn.

For the nickname I've been given, is what I am.

I will write until my hands ache from all these monograms.

I am the sun.

I am the sun in the darkness.

I am the sun when the sky is starless.

I am the sun when the grays take over the blues.

I am the sun even through the emotional abuse!

I used to urn for the moon to guide me in my path,

But after she broke me in two, I saw myself through the aftermath.

And that's when I knew that the moon shines in the reflection of the sun, 

In the reflection of myself!

So as I write my stories, poems, and eventually fill up the bookshelf,

I hope that when you look at me, you see me for who I am inside.

I will no longer hide in the shadows, trust me, I already tried.

I will never again let myself be used again by people who don't deserve the tears,

So trust me when the storms of hurricanes and darkness of the night clears,

I will shine as the darkness surrounds me.

I will intensify my rays of sunshine and be in a state of unabate.

I have always been the Sun,

And that is something that will never change.