Waiting on a sign that all this will end,
The abuse of my spirit every day.
Contentment used to be a weary friend,
Misfortune and pain have locked it away.
Beneath the dark, jaded light of the moon,
Tears force their way through my threadbare façade.
All the voiceless static shall not end soon,
Again daring me to put up my guard.
Trust, a mere dream found only in story,
Reality is just relentless pain.
And hope, another fallacy for me,
When emotion itself begins to wane.
A broken shell of all I used to be,
There is so little left inside of me.
Author notes
Where I remain after 14 years of abuse (still dealing with it daily)
Written May 12th, 2005
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Missed this one. Trust... why is it so hard to do? I used to do it without thought. Now to re-learn how to do it again? So difficult. Your poetry is life itself. I still don't buy the tough guy act either. The real you comes out... here and it's a you that hey you should be proud of. I am
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It is personal, as I was an abused child, but with each write and each tear, I grow stronger (at least hopefully) Thank you for the comment
Edited on May 12, 9:16 because ''. -
well i have to say it is a very moving piece here, alot of truth in it, can be internalized by myself for sure. a deep piece with alot of meaning and wonderful imagery. Hopefully if this is a personal piece [something about yourself] we can all emerge from brokeness. great write!
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