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Deliver me O Lord,
from the desires of my selfish mind.
Deliver me O Lord,
from the recklessness of my defiled heart.
Deliver me O Lord,
or I won’t survive.
Visit my blog: www.apoeticjournal.com
You are swimming in the void
gasping for air, surrounded by utter darkness.
You stop swimming, and you begin to float.
Waves of hopelessness slowly take you to the shore of your heart;
now you must face your fears
and slay the monsters in your head.
I know you think you can’t do it
but I'm telling you, you can.

Depression is like being at war within yourself:
It is a mental battle, a hard one to fight
but not an impossible one,
for you have been made in the image of God
and with God, the battle is already won.

I know you feel like you’re alone
but God has been here all along
patiently waiting for you to put your trust in Him, and swim out of that black hole.
He alone has the power to help you carry on.
God is your only way out:
He is the light in the darkness;
the life in your bones;
He is the reason you're still alive.
Call on Him now,
and watch how He so carefully and beautifully mends your broken soul
giving meaning to the pain you had to endure.

He saved me,
and He can save you too.
Spoken Word Poetry: https://youtu.be/XZ0KIzhoCtE
My stomach twists and turns
every time I see you staring down at your phone screen
as I’m trying to conversate with you
but you don’t dare look up at me,
probably because you don’t care about what I have to say
your phone is more interesting...
As the early morning sun is peeking
behind the mountains in my backyard,
I begin to romanticize a day where I do not doubt,
a day where I do not indulge in self-sabotage,
a day where I believe I am capable of achieving my childhood dream.
I am a poet,
or I like to call myself one.
My heartaches and heartbreaks give life to empty pages;
I rarely compose from glorious days.
I’m inspired by the world, by people around me
but mostly by my pain.
I consider myself an introvert
for you will rarely hear me speak,
but on the other hand, I have much to say
just not with my lips
but with a pen.
I hide behind ink and paper
ready to write my feelings away.

I am the poetry that I write.

— The End —