A place of sorrow, of fear, of pain.
A place of joy, of hope, of love.
A place to cry out in fear.
A place to shout in joy.
A place to be myself, and hope not to be judged for who I am.
Bruised, broken, bleeding on the floor Without knowing what to do anymore
How did this happen to me? I cried, and begged, and screamed my plea
I guess what they say about silent screams is true There's not a soul in the world who can hear them but you
The calls of the wounded, the fearful yet strong They echo in the night, the sound so long
But, they still ring forth from the voice And when you hear it, you have quite a choice
Do you run to help, or turn away Comfort them, or walk away like it's just a normal day?
The cries of the meek over often unheard The world through there eyes so often blurred
So next time you see someone in pain, Please help them, it's well worth the gain
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_______________________________________ Heyo humans it's ya boi Cassia!
Recently it's come to my attention that some people think ALL my depression poems mean I'm depressed. So I'm here to clear that up.
I'm just the kind of girl who LIKES writing depressing stuff, and I don't even have to be depressed to do it. Yes I gain my ideas from my life, but I'm allowed to remember depression without BEING depressed.
So anyways, if you're not sure if I'm depressed at the moment when I publish a poem, check out the author's note! That's where you can tell if I'm actually depressed or not, or just, like, writing it because I enjoy.
