thirteen, writing.

i would never admit it, but

i’m broken. i have lived through a hell you only see in your nightmares. i was born into a world of agony and have stayed silent on the darkest of nights.

i have stayed silent on nights at ten years old and crying, 

                                                                                                                 crying because i don’t fit into a world that was not made to hold so much emotion.

they tell me it made me stronger, but i was eight. i didn’t need to be stronger, i

                                                                                            needed to be safe.

i needed to be loved, loved by those who i would’ve given my life for in a heartbeat. i needed to be supported, held together on my darkest days by the help i was never given.

alone in the darkness I 

                                                                                                          shattered.

i live in a world that cannot bear my raw emotion, my imperfect life that has always been filled with agony. i love in a world that cannot love me for myself because no one understands what i have lived through. 

they tell me i’ll be okay because they aren’t living through my pain, and they do not realize i’m trusting them

                                                                                                      with my life 

when i explain my pain.

i am thirteen and writing, 

writing poetry for those who need to heal, writing poetry so i can heal. i write for the broken, i write for the shattered. at thirteen i am writing for those who cry, those who cry because they do not fit into a world that was not made to hold so much pain in one heart. 

and as this endless night continues

i hope you know

you’re not alone.

i am thirteen, writing. writing because in these broken hands holds the power to heal.