not plummeting down
a long,
black
hole,
but through the sands of time,
slowly sinking feet to head,
being swallowed,
until I am gasping for breath.
I am falling
not tumbling over bumps
to
my
knees
but through my inner darkened identity,
slowly stumbling mind to soul,
being erased,
until my Self is lost.
I am falling
not so others can pick me up
but because I cannot stop myself.
I am sinking
physically, emotionally,
losing myself in
this quicksand of struggle.
Where is my strength?
What is strength?
Is it continuing to fight,
to pull myself up
this fraying rope I refuse to release?
Or is true strength
to let my hands waver,
to close my eyes and fall
and wait for a hand.
Is real strength
to stop pretending,
to stop fighting,
to stop searching?
Is real strength
displaying your raw weakness?
I have been falling for years,
grabbing ropes and hands.
When does it stop?
1 comment:
This is really beautiful. And mostly because it's just like what I do late at night - 1 am when I can't sleep...writing my despair at that point.
Quicksand is the perfect word - you struck me with that one. IF only everyone we come across could live with it for a week....they'd understand.
I feel like I either get annoyance or pity and I don't like either...but you try so much sometimes you wonder if you should keep fighting.
You're such a strong woman...writing it feels so good to get it out...but at the end of the day...I know what you'll do. Keep on fighting because there's always something we haven't tried...be well :)
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