Silence the voice in your head,
for it only speaks in bitter tongues and upset stomachs.
Spill your pain through the ink that is your blood,
because pain attaches itself to the flesh of those that hide.
Speak about the parasite that burrows through your brain,
leaving you cornered in a fetal position, aging backwards into helplessness.
Pick up the broken pieces of yourself and glue them with gold, because you are more than the scabs and scars in your arms, legs, hands, feet, heart, and brain.
You are the one that kept walking when your feet couldn’t carry you.
You are the one that kept lifting when your burden got too heavy.
You are the one that kept hoping when your luck ran out.
You are the winning lottery ticket of the billions that could’ve born in your place.
You are the well that never dried no matter how hot the sun got.
Feel the ecstasy of conquering that nagging voice,
stand up to the alcoholic father that is your self-hatred,
for whom every move, breath, and word is an error,
even if for a very brief moment in time,
when that day comes, you will ask yourself
“Is this what normal feels like?”
Photo by OC Gonzalez (Unsplash)