Thu, 05/02/2013 - 19:50 -- beemun


United States
38° 24' 24.2748" N, 122° 52' 34.0716" W

I believe in pink, she giggles.
As we sit in a room full of people,
She is the one eyes are drawn to.
Hugs and pink and smiles and more pink
A pink sequined pillow that matches her pink sequined boots
And only she knows how brightly this contrasts with that which she hides deep inside of her
Because she’s haunted by memories and ghosts who pull on the chains at her feet
And when the weight makes her stumble, no one else is allowed to see
A facade of perfection that pulls the rope tighter around her neck
And she struggles to catch her breath.
As her blade screams her pain
Because her lips can’t form the words
Because her eyes have forgotten how to form tears
The demons offer her their hands and
Instead of reaching towards them she grabs a stone
And adds it to the pile of nights she wanted to let go
But pressed on
Strength like a redwood in a coastal storm that’s raging against her
And somehow her smile has a light that can
Push away everyone else’s storm clouds
But doesn’t have any power against her own
There’s an army behind her of people whose lives she’s brightened
But depression is an opaque curtain
And it’s pulled tight against the window
And the army she can’t see
But they’re there
Screaming “you’re loved!” at the top of their lungs
You’re loved.
You’re loved you’re loved you’re loved.
And the curtains lie
The curtains the blades the night the ghosts the chains
They all lie.
Because it doesn’t have to be this way.


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