A soul grieves, not because of others
But because of thyself.
Even if it mourns every second,
one soul can never choose its master
One can only despair and persevere;
an everlasting struggle of might and defeat,
truth and lies, shallow or deep
How does a soul grieve?
Does it cry, scream or flail?
Does it simply keep you awake at night,
induce nightmares and insinuate insomnia?
Can a soul be broken beyond repair?
So dear, all you have to do is be soul-less,
All of those pain, tears and demise;
throw it underneath your pillows
cease them to exist,
and appear to be whole even though apart in pieces.
"I stopped going to therapy because I know my therapist was right and I wanted to keep being wrong. I wanted to keep my bed habits like charms on a bracelet. I did not want to be brave. I think I like my brain best in a bar fight with my heart. I think I like myself a little broken. I’m okay if that makes me less loved.
I like poetry better than therapy anyway. The poems never judged me for healing wrong." - Clementine Van Radics
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