The Great Fight

For nearly two decades,

I lived with a weight

crushing my spirit.

That beast we call

suicidal ideation

would gnaw on my neurons

taking bites big enough

to choke on

leaving intrusive thought

remnants in its wake.

I'm not sure one

can fully understand

the gravity of waking

every morning

years on end

feeling disappointed

that they awoke at all

until they've lived it,

breathed it in

with morning sunlight,

become it

with every aching bone and muscle

of a body begging

to just give up.

Until then,

you can only imagine.

Likewise, on the other side

of such unnameable sadness,

you can't truly comprehend

the ecstacy within me

when I can finally say,

"I am happy right now,"

because no one knows

how I burnt down to the ground,

my innards charred to a crisp

with every phase of moon.

Only I was witness

to my bare hands cupping ash

and pressing inward until

diamond bricks emerged

for me to lay my foundation with.

Blood and sweat and tears

poured from me

like a rusty faucet,

tendons ripped

femurs snapped

for me to be able to climb

and reach this current perspective

worthy of so many wows,

it was not an easy battle.

But it is absolutely possible

to survive your own

mental warfare.

You must simply be

a warrior

with love for your own survival.