I never had a certain trauma.
I never overcame a severe drama.
I was never beat, ***** or suffered harm,
But I still have marks along my arm.
My trauma does not exist inside the world.
My problems are something I have earned.
They live inside my thoughtful mind.
When someone looks, they are hard to find.
But for me, they thrive in every second.
Always there, they never lessen.
I torment myself for no set reason.
My mind has gone and committed treason.
I don't control the thoughts in my head.
The thoughts that wish I was dead.
They push me into misery and pain,
All while others think I'm the same.
I don't show the world the problems I have.
No one will care.
I did not suffer.
I did not overcome.
I simply am broken.
With no one to love.