Listen!

I'm still writing you, are you still reading me?

"We know but talking about it helps. Specially when noone talks about it specially when where you come from you arenot supposed to talk about it."

It's how you love me as though I matter!🖤

I’m tired. Sometimes I wonder why I write. There are times when my hands and my heart feel so heavy and I remember what I was before I took the pen and I cry. I cry because I know that I can never go back to that time that was perhaps simpler, and it is that writing has come to disturb my life and heart. I can no longer keep everything inside like I used to. I can’t. It has become as necessary as breathing, this beat of my soul on the page, but it hurts. God, I don’t know what hurts more, to write or hold it all just silent inside.

Noone wins in this writing game.

what Professor Robert Sapolsky calls, "the worst disease you can get" and what renowned psychiatrist Peter Kramer believes is the "most devastating disease known to mankind." And those who don't make it through another day, they didn't give up- they simply lost the battle to a powerful enemy.

Depression fucking sucks. Fear of death is not nearly as scary as fear of living another day. But how do we see most diagnosed with serious illnesses? Rotten luck. There is no shame in suffering the illness of depression. It’s just rotten fucking luck.

I am gonna repost one work since I have no new ones...for the ones who didn't read them. Enjoy!🖤

Pain demanded to be felt cause in denial came greater suffering.I was always good at fighting myself on the truth and believe me not from the world but from myself.i denied what it longed for more than any sexual pleasure,more than being understood and even more than love. The truth was as naked and as gruesome as a stripper...As she shakes her ass for a stranger who is gonna throw her a couple bucks not enough for her to even buy panties to strip on for another random stranger as they suffocate their nasty minds inside the gold mine she hides between her bruised thighs as she witnesses the convulsion of her tiny filthy world when they tap her body. you see all her life pretend .hunger. indigence. lack of comfort. disgust. lack of breath. bruises. lack of being understood and lack of love lingered over her and bruised her with their touch more than the men she serve and beyond all that she faces she fools herself into thinking that all of it that came in her existence is washed away as she pours water onto her and rub her body. she thinks she can rewrite her life when she opens the bible and repeatedly say onto her mind
""For I will restore you to health
And I will heal you of your wounds"declares the lord. because they have called you saying "its Zion noone cares for her""
She denies the ugly truth hiding behind those beautiful words.
-Yeab T🥀-

You see see what happened there...I made you look at me not from my own figures or doings but from a girl who somehow connects to my world in her own way.I showed you how after all that is done to her poor soul you saw her suffocating an inevitable truth with beautiful words.I did that.It hasn't been long since I came to know that I hid behind my poetry and writings thinking I faced the pain when all I did was use it as a dagger for me to slay the neck of the creature that has found comfort on my back mercilessly before it told the truth to my ears.you see if ever one needed to feel pain one must look it in the eyes and then decide whether to strangle it..drown it..swallow it or live with it.one must adore the truth...get to know it...if one awaits the day of healing....for me hiding became my disguise.concealing my pain like a debutante that is getting ready to be sold.you thought you knew didn't you?you must have believed me when I told you I strip naked for you.poor world you got me wrong.I don't owe you any explanation.This is to my poor heart that I denied myself the pain from.No silly girl no.No you are not depressed.No you don't get panick attacks.It is just your heart being a little extra.no you dont have anxiety it is just a born behaviour.Its your blood.No you haven't kept it all inside.you damn well show your anger.your frustration.your hurt.no they care.They do care they are just not good at showing it.No you are not dead...NO NO NO.oh! what a pain.I made sure to myself I never try to notice the difference between me and the other sane girls that surround me.I never thought about asking myself why I smeared blood on my notebook claiming myself "strong" or why I even started cutting myself at first place.I am afraid I am.A diseased mind.A demon embodied heart and soul.Without my consent I tutored myself to get used to the pain....For big fights to sound less chaotic...For insults to be comforting...For cutting to be artistic...For dying to be living.....
ENOUGH!!!!This is going to be my truth.Playing hide and seek with the truth never is a way to ease pain.It is no anesthetic.God beats your soul.People around you beat your soul....and you...you beat your soul.If ever you embark on a journey of healing or any journey you haven't set purpose for this is where it begins.For me being the clueless traveller that I am I begin by looking myself in the mirror and saying to myself "you are sick poor girl,you need help"
-Yeab T🥀

“And if this love isn’t really ours, I’m willing to fool fate to get a few moments with you. I will make them believe it’s us that’s meant to be. Even if I can’t have you forever, it’s okay. A moment with you is already a lifetime to me.”

Maybe I need to remind myself this everytime.

If the ones I love come to find out that I used them for my own survival,as my reason to exist in this world. A reason to fight,a reason to hold on, to ache,to feel,to breath,to live...would they hold a grudge on me?...only the clouds know