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The voices surrounding me keep echoing
My path to recovery, each time narrowing
Constantly screaming ‘It’s a thing of the past’
But they don’t see my poor heart enclosed in its own cast
Feeble from the hurt and the misery
Still beating strong despite several blows
They cannot explain such sorcery
My reason for persevering, not a single soul knows
Once bitten, twice shy
The third time, cynical
And they still dare to look me in the eye
Still dare to question my guts
Belittle my self worth while demanding to know my insecure thoughts
If disconsolate feelings are left to grow deeper
My body in turn will rot, making me a lot less eager
But the initial survivor never gives in
She yearns to rise again each time with even thicker skin
The initial survivor I once was but, I am no longer
As I cannot stop the tears
They flow while pushing through my anger
Cannot suppress my fears
Because within me, there will always be memories
But maybe one day this too will be
Similar to the extraneous hate being harboured within
Or just like the identity of a teardrop in the presence of the great sea
This might eventually be a thing of the past
But it’s hard to let go because in my case, the voices didn’t regardless of how many times I asked.

Love,
Disconsolate A
X

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