“I wish I wrote the way I thought;
Obsessively,
Incessantly,
With maddening hunger.
I’d write to the point of suffocation.
I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns,
Manuscripts spiraling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing.
And I’d write about you a lot more than I should.”
-Benedict Smith

But instead I write nothing
And hope that my thoughts are understood through my actions
Knowing the impossibility of it all
Because of the enigma that I was and continue to be
Desperate to fix myself when there is nothing broken
Grasping at pieces to make whole what was never shattered in the first place

I have created an illusion for myself to live with my trauma and try to label what makes me different
But I am slowly realizing that trauma does not define me
And my differences are what make me unique
What give me the power to view the world the way I do
What will enable me to change the broken world around me and finally allow myself a sense of peace

Some may say that I am selfish, to want to fix others but to never acknowledge my own flaws
This is not me saying I am perfect, but instead me finally giving myself closure from the wounds inflicted upon me by others... and by my self
No longer need I patch myself up and play the role designed by those trying to mold me into what they think I should be
No more do I daydream about the ways I could love you but never be loved in return
For the first time, I am free

Some people are in pieces,
thats just the way they are now.
And sometimes,
each of those pieces
holds the love of a lifetime.
It is beautiful,
unfair, and heartbreaking
at times,
when the pieces are not held
by just one person.

Lights and all the shades
That its shapes throw,
Etched along the path of its travel
Are the moments it creates
Where we're wasting away
The time of our lives
In the hope that a beam
Will wash it all away,
Give us the enlightenment
For which we all pray
Let the wave of brightness
Pass through the keyhole
Of this dark room of life,
Make you look impeccable
While in reality
You're only
Dusting yourself off,
Picking up the pieces left over
In the wake of destruction
Caused by your own self,
The smile is unreal,
Not fake
You still carry hope
In the middle of all the cries
Some days you fall,
Other days you shall rise.