The Battle to Win the War

 

Her soul was hungry for change,

but her mind was made up to stay,

so her soul was left to starve,

her mind in a power-hungry craze.

 

 

Nothing distracts her mind from the numbers,

she's addicted counting and subtracting,

her spirit locked in the box of getting smaller,

pain lying dormant, waiting.

 

 

At once, the box too small to sustain her,

her captive soul works hard to break through,

slowly but surely getting stronger,

finding the will to make her mind something new.

 

 

Months of battles and talking through strategy,

mind and soul are nearly to level ground,

farther from the beginning than the end,

but falling seems so safe and sound.

 

As she looks at life as she knew it,

and life right there before her eyes,

to her soul there is no question,

she knows what she has to decide.

 

 

So the battle gets bloodier and bloodier,

it gets harder and harder to walk through that door,

but 5 years later she thanks her past soul

each small battle won the war.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741