I was born and raised to fight,
pushing through black smoke to breathe.
I feel things that would give hell ideas,
my mind is something I want to leave.
The colors left my eyes when I got older,
my body became worn and tattered.
Bitterness is a thing I grew into,
got my heart bruised and shattered.
Trying to rip these strings off my body,
my emotions seem to control.
Can't keep living like this forever,
the thoughts like to push and pull.
Every day is a challenge,
every second is a fight.
It's dark and cold inside of me,
wish I could easily turn on a light.
Kissing my bloody wounds,
hoping it heals and fades.
Doing my best to live,
holding myself up above the waves.
You can't see my struggle,
you can't hear the screams.
I was born and raised to fight,
slowly ripping apart at the seams.
-
Author:
Felicity Jones (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 3rd, 2017 01:30
- Category: Sad
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments2
Nice rhyme scheme. Being raised in war makes you tough.
Nice writing. Wanting to change is a good start on any journey.
please comment on my stuff.
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