This poem I wrote when I was in a very dark place in my life. So much was going on that I felt overwhelmed. As I re-read it, I remember those dark times and how all felt so hopeless. Thank God I’m out of that place and now I can look back and see just how far I fell into the darkness and depression. I remember wondering who would even care if I still existed, who would even notice my absence. I was alone, I was tired and I was on the brink of giving up.
I’m so tired of always fighting,
I’m tired, worn out and weak,
Who really cares if I exist,
I’m just called a whore or freak,
When I am too weak to carry on,
Who will pick up my sword and shield,
“They” are ripping me apart,
And to “them” I bow my head and yield.
This is my existence, no use fighting now,
I have dug my six foot grave,
For once in this miserable existence,
Am I forced to willingly behave.
As I gaze off in the distance,
The end is near, so I look to the ground,
I’m grasping for anything, anyone?
All that I ever loved, is no where to be found.
They have forgotten this war I wage,
They have just stood by for the show,
As the sword pierces my heart I yell,
Now I’m finally free from this woe.
You must log in to post a comment.