Layers of conflict and trauma
engraved in generations before,
i pull apart each layer
only seeming to uncover more.

I can't escape the past
that infects the family tree,
but I can end the violent cycle
and grow my branches separately.

my heart was an open book
full of blank sections
and searching for meaning
I filled it with questions

I looked for connections
or some explanation
I looked for letters
and I found punctuation

Journal entries,
and random thoughts,
mindless sketches,
ones and noughts

I drag my pen
across the page,
a display of mind
that shall never age.

I bask under rays of sunlight
that burn my skin
searing,
scalding,
until I'm simply a vessel of rays
no longer filled with the misery
that once repressed me.