My hopes my dreams I pinned to the hands I held
To the ones my heart I had meld
Feeling safe that all would be well
My own padded cell
The world was cruel or so id heard
Clinging to the truth of the spoken word
That I wasn’t good enough the way I was
That I had to be better than this lost cause
Belief is a strange thing
It can build you up or break your wings
And we’re often blinded to which is which
Until it unravels stitch by
And a ghost appears from the shell laying shattered
A vague shape torn and tattered.
Stronger than before even in its weakest form
Broken but Ready to weather the storm.
And now there is Purpose yes there is poise
Against the wind and… deafening noise.
It’s Time to venture out into the wild
Its time I killed the child
By Rahul Thomas
