our scars,
memories etched into our skin
with a story for each.
some gentle, like brushstrokes
reminding us of joy and laughter
from when we were young,
falling and getting back up.
others more rough,
irregular lines we’d rather forget
that sting with memories
of nights we thought we wouldn’t make it.
and then there are the ones unseen,
invisible to all but ourselves
within fractures of our mind.
one by one,
these helped weave who we are.
good or bad,
they never leave-
a map leading down a road with no end
but countless stories of survival.
Tag: depression
cellar
the cellar sits idle,
padlock on the ground
with bolt cutters next to it.
the handles wait,
aching to be pulled,
but i know what lives inside-
the whispers,
the weight,
the things with my name etched into them
that haunt me still.
if i open it,
they’ll rush out,
and i don’t know if i’ll have the strength
to shut it-
not again.
broken lock
the door won’t budge.
the key just stops,
mocking me.
i pusH,
kick,
pull,
plEad-
everything.
but nothing.
the Lock has forgotten me
as the darkness aPproaches,
ready to succeed.
disguise
being like this,
it isn’t fun.
i want to cry
but my body forgets how.
i want to scream
but my throat chooses silence.
i don’t want to shake
but my hands reveal my secret,
full of shame
and embarrassment.
i don’t want to drown
but my thoughts continue to pour in,
plugging the drain
and overfilling.
i don’t want to be this way,
fighting my battles alone.
scared to show my pain,
happy to share my disguise.
i wish someone could see
past the skin i wear so well,
and grab my hand
to calm my storm.
night drive
the path opens,
my car turning onto it
as dirt and gravel whisper under tired tires.
off the map and off the road,
not a streetlight in sight
nor is there a reason to stop.
the moon attempts to accompany me,
as do the stars,
but to no avail-
this is meant to be done alone.
just the hum of the engine
and whatever’s left of me clinging-
to the wheel?
to the body i carry?
i don’t know where i am,
maybe that’s the point.
the silence feels oh so heavy,
as if it knows
i wouldn’t mind
if it let me disappear into it.
😢
it’s okay-
to mimic the rain,
to shatter the glass,
to run the faucet without care.
pain,
heartbreak,
fear,
tragedy,
life.
even the strongest
must cry sometimes.
💤
one would think
that after resting for 26 years,
they would have energy.
energy to explore-
to run with speed,
to love with passion,
to write with fire,
to live without fear.
but no-
i am still so tired.
🌧️
another stormy day-
the sky screaming
as the clouds fight
and their tears fall.
they hit the windshield
as i commute to work,
reminding me that
i am not the only
broken one.
alone.
the trees whisper things i cannot hear,
their branches reaching like arms,
but not to hold me.
i walk aimlessly,
the moss remembering me,
footsteps tracking where i’ve already been.
it’s quiet
but not empty-
something watches.
i know i’m not alone,
and that’s what scares me most.
scares me for i am unsure
what is to come.
dull
the moon watches,
but no longer glows,
just distant and pale
as the nights cycle.
colors are blurs,
once vivid treasures
but now,
just
there.
the sky quit speaking,
the wind whistles less,
and even the flowers
seemed to stop trying.
rog's poems 