Broken Promises — a poem by Olivia
They hand me empty promises and lies
like gauze for wounds that are only slightly recognizable.
“You're a fighter though!” they say,
not realizing how much they’ve hurt me
with their actions and their words.
I slowly decay,
yet they say, “I’ll pray.”
But praying won’t help,
because you put my “cure”
out there like fixing one thing
will heal all the blurred lines
and begs that are yet to be heard.
You can stitch all my scars,
you can place gauze over bullets,
but that doesn’t fix all the outside and inside hurt
that’s tortured me behind more than just caged bars.
You pretend some don’t exist,
thinking changing one thing
can fix the rest.
You mistake my frustrated silence
for invisibility —
as if I don’t exist.
Everyone believes a “cure” or a “small fix”
can relieve some pain.
But the days draw long,
and the pain lives on.
My body is hurting
in more ways than one.
No one is listening
to the full story.
Am I not important enough
to get the help I need —
to literally survive
and keep going?
I feel like a burden
when people truly listen.
They try to help,
they try to “heal,”
but I am too far gone.
I’m the storm
raging in my own body,
leaking small streams
to be “discovered.”
They patch me up,
thinking one change is enough,
until I boil over
and yell, “I'VE HAD ENOUGH.”
When I blow,
I'm told,
“It’s your period,”
or “If you work on your anxiety, it’ll all go away!”
Yet YOU are the one that betrayed me.
YOU make those comments.
YOU think I WANT this?
I want my life back.
I want to live.
I want to exist.
I want to do everything
Everyone else can.
I wish I could eat
the biggest bowl of pasta
with tomatoes right now —
but It hurts.
I wish I could have something carbonated…
BUT IT HURTS.
I WISH I COULD LIVE PAIN FREE,
BUT MY BODY IS BREAKING ME APART.
I FEEL LIKE I'M FALLING WAY TO FAR!!!
I don’t want this life.
Someone, please hear me.
Every time you pretend to listen,
to hear,
you miss the end.
I’ve written it out before.
Your broken promises —
“Everything’s going to get better”
and “You’re a fighter” —
aren’t enough.
I know you’re trying.
But I’m falling apart.
And your broken promises
will never be enough.
I’m a burden.
I understand.
But please listen anyway.
My wounds are deep crevasses
that aren’t fixable
by a band-aid
or some gauze.
Please look at the full picture,
and don’t look at it
like there’s just one cause.
My body is like shattered glass
piercing into my soul.
My mind is a tornado
I can’t hide from.
They hand me prayers
like shredded paper
that’s supposed to “shield the pain,”
but it’s all in vain.
They always admit it’s easier
to patch a crack with a band-aid or gauze
than to fix the gaping holes
that are spewing thoughts,
pain,
shouts,
pleas for help
when no one is listening
to the true pain.
They say words like “strong,” and “fight,”
“Brave,” “Bold,” “persistent,” or a “warrior”
like those are the things
that will make it right.
But they say that
so they don’t have to sit
in the blood, sweat, and tears
of my broken body,
my storm-tossed mind,
the wreck inside me.
Those times in those offices,
while they spew how I should change.
But when I try to put those in play,
It's a grave mistake.
The clock ticks slower,
my mind races fast,
thinking one change of a medication,
one simple diet change,
will help all of these facts.
I won’t stand for people like this.
I want to live like a normal kid.
I want to exist.
I don’t want prayers.
I don’t need sympathy.
I just need help.
Please don’t give me broken promises.
I need more help
than what’s been given.
I’m not a lesson to be taught
on how to appear “fine.”
I’m not your charity case
holding a briefcase of lies.
I am HERE —
bleeding,
breaking,
falling apart.
Are YOU finally listening?
Don’t act like you know how to fix me.
Don’t act “smart.”
Just support me.
Will you be my support buddy?
Can you help me?