She rolls with the punches and places a smile upon her face,
Although her heart is broken, pulverised and raw,
Despondency her mood of the morning,
Nursing the ache in her chest, despairingly sore.
Life has made her weary, exhausted as she wakes,
Terrified of the future and all the possibilities bring,
She wallows in her doldrums, sick to her stomach,
Battling to breathe through the pain and the sting.
She’s shakes herself mentally, rustling up gratitude,
For the sky as it turns pink within her vision,
She’s alive, set for another day,
Rising to meet her destiny with infinite precision.
She’s stronger than she gives herself credit for,
Smiling in the face of distraught intervention,
The light shines upon her face, highlighting her eyes,
As a tear escapes against her intention.
Fear attempts to rise and overwhelm her,
But she beats it back with a metaphorical bloody stick,
Finding the strength to push it into the background,
Drowning in emotions, feeling horribly homesick.
She laughs at her antics because she has no home,
Sick and pining for a place that doesn’t belong,
No she’s homeless and lost in her fake existence,
Which is why she wakes feeling so irreparably wrong.
She still stands tall in the face of it all,
Knowing she’s got to survive, she’s little choice,
She will not be beaten, so back the fuck off,
And listen intently when she raises her voice.
Enough, she has decided, once and for all,
She’s strong enough to beat back her own pain,
She’ll ride the waves of despair, tormented and teary,
But then she’ll pick herself up and dust off again.
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
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Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.