Writing is a deep passion of mine. Voicing is my favorite part of living. 23 years old and there is so much more life to live. Life awaits and life is full. Wounds will heal with time. Writing is my lifestyle, it's my way to breathe.
Writing is a deep passion of mine. Voicing is my favorite part of living. 23 years old and there is so much more life to live. Life awaits and life is full. Wounds will heal with time. Writing is my lifestyle, it's my way to breathe.
No one tells you about the sick days.
Fever, chills, now blood is staining your throat with a lifeline attached, and your chords are giving out.
Your ears are ringing,
You feel lightheaded, dizzy, now you aren’t thinking clearly.
No one tells you about the sick days and the way the way you feel worse as the day moves slow and slower, slowly withering away.
No one tells you the way you’ll feel deat...
The voice is a bit louder than usual tonight.
My wrists are tingling,
My thoughts continue racing and the urge to self destruct is desperately awakening.
I have to remember the aftermath feeling,
I have to continue living.
Self destruction is my form of wounds aching.
Thoughts,
Actions,
Feelings,
Then there is doing.
Self destruction is a heart bleeding and now it’s crying, beating, and giving the...
It’s night.
3am to be exact.
I am alone again and desperately withering for peace.
The constant sting to put my pen down and let my thoughts be.
My pillow is cold,
My blankets are hugging my body tighter than usual tonight.
The voice is creeping up on me so quietly.
She is always with me.
Thumping and thumping and now my heart is booming.
She is loud and she is here but, tonight she is screaming.
...
I once wished upon a star,
Above all I ached for the reach.
555, a constant loop in me.
My mind was ready, so were my wounds.
I wanted to heal so quickly that I pushed down the blues.
Then one September night, I fell to my knees.
My wishing star had finally came to me.
A tall man made of iron and sweet words to soothe my pain.
So open and vulnerable, ready to give me all.
Life is funny, kind of to...
Home is him,
Home is like a flower garden blooming in due time.
Home is our bed,
The care,
The love, compassionate understanding.
Home is his arms and the way we ignite.
His hand on my cheek with a look no one’s ever given me.
Home is his place,
It’s like my body hydrating.
Water flowing through my veins.
Home is hydration, full of compassion.
Home is love,
The hugs,
The looks,
The calm before the...