there is something else here with me,
that I cannot see.
the presence of its being is undeniable
& I feel as if I'm liable for its actions.
this is something stronger than I am
& I am not sure what to make of it.
there are whispers
that aren't audible
& the desire to hurt myself becomes intolerable,
there's comfort here,
but I don't want it.
there's a freedom that I seek,
reminiscent to childhood dreams.
I am enslaved inside my own mind
& I cry
out for help,
but no one hears me.
I am so lost within myself,
I can't remember what not feeling this
way feels like....there is no light here.
& there's a peculiar art
as if, without the whispering,
I'd be nonexistent.
I am trapped...& there is no rescue,
only search & recovery
upon the discovery
of my death.
because I am not who I used to be.
but I change the narrative
because my will to live
& there’s a God that never fails me.
I speak life.
of the whispers weighing in on the latter
& all of the bullshit doesn’t matter
because there is more to who I am than this.
I am worthy of life. to live.
to be who I need to be for others & myself.
I am what’s left of amid the paths of devastation
& worldly shit that tried to shake me.
I am more than my disease.
more than the depression
that tends to sleep with me night after night
whilst simultaneously asking for it to leave.
I am a child of the most high
& my steps have been ordered
in a capacity in which
at times I can’t even comprehend.
my wounds will mend.
my spirit will settle into itself & the self
reflection of my life will all make sense.
this is all intentional.