The urge.
The itch.
Scratching layer after layer.
I’m angry and totally sick of it.
Punching the ball of rage.
Blunt, bruised and blackened.
Through healing I’m bleeding.
I cry oceans from grief.
So I can swim my way to freedom.
And one day be weightless.
No urge, no itch.
Featherlight and fly.
Living my life.
Emotional abuse
“It doesn’t matter if I’m skinny or fat. My body always feels like a vessel of short term happiness. I’m sick of it.”
M.P.Yasmine
Path
Suddenly it hits me.
In the middle of the crowd.
Going beneath the surface.
Digging deeper for understanding.
That consoling my wounded inner-child will give me all the answers.
M.P.Yasmine
Powerless
Your hate can not devour me.
Your disapproving look no longer haunts me.
Like time in its simple being will haunt you.
And the truth will devour you.