Dark

Last week was heavy, dark as stone,

A silence loud, a heart alone.

The weight of thoughts I couldn’t fight—

No morning sun, no trace of light.

I lay in stillness, soaked in ache,

Each breath a tremble, hard to take.

A blackhole pulled, no end in sight,

Where “what’s the point?” became my night.

But still—I rose, though not with grace,

Just inch by inch, I found my place.

Survival was the name I wore,

Each step a battle, nothing more.

I spoke the storm, I let it spill,

To someone trained to help me still.

The chaos cleared, the noise grew thin,

A voice outside, a light within.

Friends may care, but they too bleed,

And space to hold is not guaranteed.

So I learned to speak with care,

To ask, not assume, they’re always there.

I learned of layers, how we frame

A moment’s truth with past-born flame.

A late hello, a missed reply—

Can twist to “they don’t care,” or “why?”

But maybe late is just delay,

Not proof that love has gone away.

The brain interprets, paints the scene,

When feelings simply want to lean.

I made it through, and that’s enough,

Though days were jagged, raw, and rough.

A kind word came, a gentle hand—

And helped me rise, helped me withstand.

So here I stand, not fixed, but whole,

Still learning how to soothe my soul.

And if you ask what got me through—

It’s grace, it’s grit, and kindness too.