Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
so you set out to heal your trauma. out of options, you hope this is the right path. you're desperate for somthing, a different future, a better me, you say. you grab the first line and you start pulling, for truth, answers, anything. you don't want to fail. you unpack the boxes the best you can, and begin to understand even the most beautiful colors can blind. the heartbreak comes in discovering those who let you down were the ones meant to shield. and then the grief comes. this person you are is only a shell, built from broken promises, a life you never conceived. didn't you try once to break free? resilience, they call it. **** i love picking at old scabs. they make me feel alive. they hold the mirror of who i used to be. raw, messy, wild,                              unfiltered, and i miss her sometimes. i'm clean sharp lines now, measured and drawn, because i no longer suffocate in the gray. you resist at first then learn to accept that peace in chaos will never exist. what you do find is a quieter life, where the demons finally sleep, and you don't keep looking over your shoulder. waiting, for an end you didn't write.
0
Nov 17, 2025
Nov 17, 2025 at 1:09 AM UTC
living, in progress
so you set out to heal your trauma. out of options, you hope this is the right path. you're desperate for somthing, a different future, a better me, you say. you grab the first line and you start pulling, for truth, answers, anything. you don't want to fail. you unpack the boxes the best you can, and begin to understand even the most beautiful colors can blind. the heartbreak comes in discovering those who let you down were the ones meant to shield. and then the grief comes. this person you are is only a shell, built from broken promises, a life you never conceived. didn't you try once to break free? resilience, they call it. **** i love picking at old scabs. they make me feel alive. they hold the mirror of who i used to be. raw, messy, wild,                              unfiltered, and i miss her sometimes. i'm clean sharp lines now, measured and drawn, because i no longer suffocate in the gray. you resist at first then learn to accept that peace in chaos will never exist. what you do find is a quieter life, where the demons finally sleep, and you don't keep looking over your shoulder. waiting, for an end you didn't write.
Rozana
Written by
F/Sacramento
Nov 17, 2025
Nov 17, 2025 at 1:09 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem