Just a few more minutes To hold you while you sleep A few more minutes Where the world won’t utter A peep Just a few
In all my life
I’ve never felt so wild
and tame
So surrendered to the fact
that life will never
be the same.
In one door, told what’s “wrong with you,” out the next, told what’s “broken within you,” and in another to purchase your pills. The louder the internal conflict, the more muted the external manipulation becomes. The more full the “doctor’s” books, the less care and attention can be offered, and the more can be charged. If the doctor’s unsure, then surely there’s a high-ticket test that can determine the cure.
There’s time now To listen to the birds To discern their words As the echoes bounce Off the walls of my house. There is time
To be soft I want to be soft not hard Like warmed butter not shard. I want to feel the layers of armor peel off
Your brain isn’t broken—it’s just doing its job a little too well. Brain fog, exhaustion, and mental blocks aren’t random. Nor do they mean you, the human, are beyond repair. They’re the result of an evolutionary function built into your brain-body connection, designed to protect you by storing valuable information and having the foresight to anticipate potential threats. But when trauma gets involved? That system can go into overdrive, leaving you stuck in a haze of confusion, fatigue, and why-did-I-just-walk-into-this-room moments.
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