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Writing through my pain

I write to gain nothing; I write to see my feelings portrayed in black letters that are appeared on white plain paper. Sometimes I do not even know what I write about, for the contents consume my mind, my being, my thoughts, for what is it to write? I am possessed; I become another person, a person I don’t know, and a person with so much intent.

Writing through my pain

I am evolving here on this Earth, yet I am unable to find a companion. I am young, so very young. Physically, I am young, but mentally I am aging every hour that each day possesses. I have been taken for granted; therefore my hope has vanished. Yes, vanished from my being, vanished from my entire being. Writing how my hope has left me, writing how I can no longer hope. For this word is more suitable to others than myself. I write about this each day. I cannot help but feel this hopelessness, this feeling brings me pain, and therefore I write it on a blank page to relieve this suffering.

Writing through my pain

The night comes. I can’t control the dark or there would only be light for me to see. The darkness controls me, instills fear in me. I see him; I even hesitate to blink my eyes. I don’t choose to think about him, I don’t want to remember anything, I want to erase him forever, but can I? No and this is why. He took a part of me and I was unwilling. He shattered me in pieces and stole my body. Raped me internally, externally, controlling me with mind games, and this is how he broke me. I feel this every night, these feelings of someone watching me, someone waiting to attack me. I am walking, walking in the night; I start to run, afraid of falling as I make way up the stairs, fearing that I will drop my keys when someone is chasing me. Is someone chasing me? Hiding in my home? Is someone ready to attack me again? I have been robbed, unwillingly opened, why me? These are my thoughts every night, now do you see why it’s so hard for me to sleep?

Writing through my pain

I am a seed. The seed of existence, the seed of something beautiful, the seed that has been unappreciated, yet nurtured by some individuals. I am strong for overcoming what I have and stronger for knowing it. I live in fear, but I relieve it by writing it away. I write through my pain. This blank ink is merely the ashes of my existence, the ashes of what pain is. I do not fear death; for I feel that death is chasing me every time the sun sets. I used to find pleasure in the beauty of the starts, I still do, but it’s not the same anymore. For how can I admire being outside, if my thoughts are so compelling that I even fear the night? I write, I write like there’s no tomorrow, for this is all I have to live for. When I was younger I believed the stars were so holy, I still do in many ways, but It’s not the same, nothing is the same. I wonder if my pain will ever disappear and if it does, will I still be able to write this way? I am young, hopeless and no longer want a companion to erase my pain away because the only person who can do that is myself.