They say
it can’t be cured
—a casual secret
you tend to hide.
Like a birthmark
or age-washed scar,
it can be covered
if you try.
Sometimes, you try.
It’s on your face
behind the glare
—cold, unphased.
You’re pieces inside,
bits and pieces of things
you tend to hide.
You’re a stained glass window
betrayed by the light.
You have to try.
Try to sleep.
They say it helps
when you can’t sleep.
They say you need help.
Lonely nights
become your therapy
because silence might be
the quickest way to your heart.
Strive
to understand,
reluctant cast-away,
that you will always
be this way
—a servant of despondency.
It’s easier to explain
the mind’s homeless chaos
by giving it a name.
Try giving it a name.
They say
it can be treated,
and it’s the only reason
you try.
About the Creator
Sam Eliza Green
Wayward soul, who finds belonging in the eerie and bittersweet. Poetry, short stories, and epics. Stay a while if you're struggling to feel understood. There's a place for you here.
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Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
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Niche topic & fresh perspectives
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The story invoked strong personal emotions
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