The wounds of the body draw attention.
The wounds of the mind yield derision:
Festering, ever painful, hidden
Waiting to be healed and ridden
Of shards of rage and blisters of sorrow
Lurking beneath hope of a joyful morrow.
An aching heart cries out in exasperation,
Only to be banished in frustration
To a gloomy exile
Amidst words that rile.
These sad overtures are in vain
As companions flee to avoid pain.
"Keep your chin high," they say
"Get rid of emotions that overstay!"
Yet the heart does not relent
From the inner torment.
The veneer of respectability
Holds its own against every scrutiny.
At once a monster and a benefactor,
A killer of your spirit yet benevolent
Picture perfect yet malevolent,
Nursing you while crushing your heart;
Contradictions abound tearing you apart.
Tears well up unseen
In memory of actions that demean;
This pain too shall silently subside
For in whom will you confide?
If the hand that rocks your cradle
Be the hand that smothers your soul
What chance do you have of survival
Of finding support, of revival?
Who wil believe your tale?
Pull you up when you fail?
Don't look outside for hope
They cannot lend you a rope
In the dark night of your soul
Only you can make yourself whole.
Learn to dig deep
And gently seep
Into the treasures of your spirit
That exude wisdom without limit.
Ease into the peace of your being
That is the end of your suffering.
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