beautiful,
are my words to you
that fall fast
from my tongue
are the truest
i have ever come to know.
you are a by-product
of trauma.
pain,
the fighting,
suffering,
the screaming,
the blood
that pours from your skin.
i see it.
and i know you don't understand
why life
treated you this way.
why you couldn't live a
normal
easy
life like the others did.
because while the other little kids
were learning how to ride a bike,
sing their ABC's
and color between the lines,
you were learning how to survive.
learning how to take care of yourself,
learning how to understand
concepts of life
that normal children
now cannot.
you were fighting
for your life around the time
children should have been
fighting monsters
under their bed.
but no, your monsters
were real.
and i know, that you sit
and you think
that because,
of the PTSD that lingers
gently like a bad
nightmare
that won't go away,
that because you had only
yourself at a young age,
that you are different.
not accepted,
abnormal.
but you are not.
you are stronger,
careful,
kinder,
and sweeter to those
that still suffer
the destruction.
and while others grew
with their gardens watered,
their flowers feed,
you still grew
and survived.
despite needing
nourishment from others.
and that is enough,
enough to continue.
i am proud of you.
for not needing anyone else.
and that will always be enough,
to live in a cruel world,
that is never, ever kind.
-zmh
YOU ARE READING
the ruins of me
Poetryi love you; said me every time foolishly. if you see any grammer mistakes, please do not hesitate to contact me politely about them! also credit to whoever may have taken the picture of the flowers for my cover, I did edit it a bit but other than...
