I have nothing left in this world to call my own,
no where safe enough to call my home.
All I really have is my writing stemmed from the thoughts
replaying on an endless loop inside my head.
I believe sometimes that when I write them down and create
that maybe it’s my one way to get them to escape.
My pain is truly stitched into each and every word.
I hope that they will one day possibly be seen, and I can
actually be heard.
Mar 8, 2022
Mar 8, 2022 at 4:48 PM UTC
I have nothing left in this world to call my own,
no where safe enough to call my home.
All I really have is my writing stemmed from the thoughts
replaying on an endless loop inside my head.
I believe sometimes that when I write them down and create
that maybe it’s my one way to get them to escape.
My pain is truly stitched into each and every word.
I hope that they will one day possibly be seen, and I can
actually be heard.
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