Soft winds whisper where old words once stayed,
A memory locked beneath the skin.
I hide the trembling edges of my sadness,
Tracing the quiet corners of my pain.
In the dark, truth learns to bend,
And deeper still, in darkness, it sleeps.
I try to breathe through the weight of it,
To focus on something brighter.
But the shadows know my name,
Calling with a familiar shame.
I walk the line between breaking and becoming,
Holding the warmth that remains.
Soft echoes rise from the silence,
Teaching me to listen again,
And to carry the hurt without losing myself.
2 responses to “#W3 prompt #187”
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I am currently raising money to pay for ongoing psychotherapy. I am a survivor of complex trauma, I have dissociative identity disorder, and complex PTSD. Therapy can be very expensive.
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Don’t feel you have to, there is no pressure, but I’m grateful for any donations that are received.
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