The Thread

The best way that I can explain life is that it is like a thread,

And the length of your string all depends on what you went through and the words that were said.

We all start off young and full of life, and you are a complete piece of string as a newborn,

And as time goes on, your string becomes shorter and shorter as you go through tough experiences and become more and more worn.

One thing that I noticed is that the length of your string has nothing to do with how young or old you are,

But it all depends on the trauma that you experienced, and how much of you is covered with scars.

Some people are lucky enough to make it through their whole life, with most of their string still intact,

But those are the lucky ones, who go through life and never experience any cracks.

In the past few months, my string is at the point where it is basically nonexistent,

And the old girl that I used to be is becoming more and more distant.

Overtime, you realize that you can only stay strong for so long, and you realize that you are broken.

And it is because of the hurt, the trauma, and all of those words that you left unspoken.

They always say that you regret the words that you don't tell, and that you never regret saying what you feel,

But if I had kept those words to myself, then there would be nothing that I would need to heal.

The girl who used to smile, and was always there for everyone is long gone,

And that's because you were always there for others, but you never had anyone to count on.

Life chips away at the person that you used to be, until you are someone you no longer recognize,

And everytime you get hurt again, another piece inside of you starts to die.

But there is only so many times that you can come back and force yourself to rise,

Because the blue is now turning into cloudy and dark grey skies.

You try so hard to force yourself to do what you have to do,

But it eventually starts to consume you, and it becomes harder and harder to just power through.

No one realizes how hard you have to fight everyday to do simple tasks,

And that the smile that you put on everyday is just another piece of your mask.

You thought you were that person who did not have it in them to give up,

But it seems like you are just constantly pouring from an empty cup.

The thread that was once you, is the now the same thread that you are barely hanging onto,

And you are at the point, where you no longer know what to do.

This poem is about: 
Me

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