Clarity

Sometimes choosing to be medicated feels like failure but sometimes it is necessary

My mind thought it was dead

for five long years

living a life under clouds of medication

raining blues on my forehead

I did not know what it meant

to be awake 

I only knew what it meant

to not want to die

I look in the mirror and see surviving

as if survivor is my only worth

bleeding thick black lines

onto paper so thin

it disintegrates as I write

my bones are awed at the thought

that maybe it didn’t need to be this way

smoking lungs deciding whether to

keep putting out the fire

or let my body burn

burn with my own inspiration

love that buried itself in my ribcage

and made itself a prison

worried about the hurt that would 

crush my hands to powder

like it did before I learned 

how to silence my mind,

it is deciding whether to be broken

or swimming in my own head

learning to think again

against my body’s wishes

it’s being okay or creative

finding light

finding life

or finding nothing in return