A Poem.

I have previously mentioned that I am tip-toeing into the world of poetry. I’ve always been fascinated by the moving capabilities of spoken word and poetry. Some are more simplistic and others have layers to peel back with every listen. I want to get there some day and with that, I must practice. So here’s a poem, I wrote last month, that currently remains without a title.

You cannot put Vicks on my mental wounds
This may frighten you
There’s no drug store cure for the sickness that ails me
My mind and I battle for the same territory
And the victor often changes

Some days are easier than others
Some are filled with warm sun beams, good coffee, good laughs
Some days are harder
Filled with a darkened bedroom
In the fetal position, choking back tears

You cannot put Vicks on this
It is not going to be that easy
These bruises on my mind require special treatment
I don’t want you to fix me
I need to do this myself

Just hold my hand along the way
Make sure I don’t stay in the dark too long
Just love me from the sidelines
While I learn to love myself.
That’s all I can ask of you.
That’s all you can do.

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