Monday, June 19, 2017


You read my words

but you don't see me as I was, living it (my story)

You read my words

but you don't know me

You read my words

but you don't see me, transparent without masks, costumes or walls

You only see the letters forming words

but not the experience that allows me to pen them

I wish I could feel someone's hand comforting me

I wish I could see your tears as the words form sentences and therefore the narrative

I wish I could hear your words of empathy...

Instead of my own voice, verbalising self actualisation and soothing comfort

I wish I could write of the light, the fire in my heart

I see in my offerings before you

Cause many just see the darkness and think they see my version of hell, lived (survived)

but the light is where beauty lies

cause that's where my resilience grows,

my hand breaking out the ground of where I was thrown in the abyss, where I was buried & left... 

I'm not dead, nor broken beyond reconstruction (the rebuild has just begun)