The problem is still

The problem was never my body,

It was the thoughts in my head

The voices not silenced

they wanted me dead.

So I made my body

The canvas for pain,

All the fears and doubts

I could not contain.

I made up my mind,

I thought to be free

I thought I would win this


Yet I’m still a captive

The voice in my head

I don’t want to go out

I want to stay hidden in bed

Yet I trudge to the hospital

My legs feel like lead

I tell them

“Your right”

Yet I go on instead.

Their need is greater than my want

I smile,I care

There’s only a small part

With them I will share.

I am just exhausted

I give myself rest

Yet despite the days off

I can’t give my best.

Not quite up,

Not quite down,

In the same patterns

Around and around.

Yet the problem is still the

Thoughts in my head,

But I hold on to hope

And march on instead.


2 thoughts on “The problem is still

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