The broken reality,
The permanent problem,
Being shaken till broken,
Being shattered inside, where no one can see.
The fake smile,
To hide the broken heart.
To hide the shrieks of pain.
The fake sense of reality
One’s coping mechanism to maintain existence.
Things break you,
Some more than others,
Never know why.
Sometimes there is no fix.
For the pain someone brought.
The feelings may go,
But the pain continues to stay.
Leaving a residual:
For these scars only we ourselves can see.
These scars only we ourselves can see.
Make themselves a part of us.
Ripping other parts to give them space.
Writing this, thinking about myself, some of the not-so recent things that have happened, how I’ve coped, how I can move on, or even if I can move on.
Despite what the poem says, I’m not sad, I am enjoying Christmas, being around family, friends, chatting and talking to many, but despite this I do continue to feel slightly empty, to make it worse I feel bad about feeling this. Even more complicated is I try to feel this way (this way I don’t like) to try and cope, but I know I don’t want this, but I don’t want the constant pain either. Until I find a solution it is one or the other.
[this is being written at 2:47am GMT on the 25th December, not sure if I want to post this on Christmas Day, but I guess you’ll see if I do]