A Poem by WillaDanvers

A disorder I've struggled with for so long yet people tell me it isn't real.


Veins made of marble,

She stumbles down the hallway,

Nerves short circuiting,

She collapses just before my door,


A sharp breath in my lungs,

Hand resting softly on my leg,

Nothing seen on the surface,

But a war is raging just beneath,


Muscles turning to lead,

Bones turning stiff in their sockets,

She can’t move it properly anymore,

But it doesn’t look any different,


They watch with blind eyes,

Veins screaming through the skin,

You can’t hear them though,

It’s all in your head, they say,


Tears falling down her rosy cheeks,

A soft touch leaves a dark internal bruise,

You can’t see it from the surface,

But she can feel every nerve dying,


Nerves intertwining with bruises,

Marble and lead blossoming internally,

Nothing looks any different above,

But a war rages beneath her skin,


Dragging her body onto a bed,

She cries into her pillow again,

There is nothing she can do to stop it,

Just ride the waves of marble,


Fighting a war nobody believes in,

She silently wishes somebody would believe,

Crumbling alone inside her room,

Struggling against her own body.

© 2019 WillaDanvers

Author's Note

Pain can't always be seen. Stop judging people by their covers, their masks, by what you think makes that person be. They might be fighting a war you don't know about.

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Added on March 19, 2019
Last Updated on March 19, 2019



Auckland, New Zealand

I am a part time poet, who's words sometimes ring true but otherwise have only gathered information from music, stories or a singular feeling. Anything really. Enjoy the words, and leave a few kin.. more..