I remember writing this so clearly even though it was 5 years ago. I had hit an all time low with my depression and there were very few things that could barely pull me out of it.

Music, Books, Poetry.

I loved literature more than any other subject that I ever took in school. It was the only thing that kept me sane. Many people who knew me would say that I love lit because I had a strong command of English. But no. Literature understood me when no one else did. I could always find comfort in that.

And so I start writing in my book of ‘stuff’. Poems, meaningful nothings, random but painfully accurate descriptions of my feelings. Before I knew it, some of my writings took on the form of a free-verse poem.

she stands there
staring at the window
watching the rain pelt against the glass
reflecting the hidden sorrow and anguish in her eyes
the pain that she silently suffers everyday
the pain one will never see

not once does she speak of her feelings
for as far as she knows
silence is a language of its own
in anyone’s mind
a carefree soul speaks
them all blinded by the facade

the strong walls of a cold heart
pushed and shoved
yet standing tall in the end
just how much more can it endure
before it crumbles into a pile of dust
a vulnerable soul bared

would it do to fall
the cruel world waiting
to take control of a weak mind
manipulating it to serve heartless deeds
would it do to give in
the question leaving a burning trail

the mind is a great servant
but a poor master
fighting for control everyday
reflecting on the purpose of life
she stands there…

5 years later, I’m proud to say that I can no longer relate to those words in the same way that I wrote them. I’ve definitely come a long way and I can’t wait to keep moving forward.

Thank You for reading this little portion of my soul xx