I write for the broken

I would never admit it, but

I’m broken. I have lived through a hell you only see in your nightmares. I was born into a world of agony and have stayed silent on the darkest of nights.

I have stayed silent on nights at ten years old and crying, 

crying because I don’t fit into a world that was not made to hold so much emotion.

They tell me it made me stronger, but I was eight. I didn’t need to be stronger, 

I needed to be safe.

I needed to be loved, loved by those who I would’ve given my life for in a heartbeat. I needed to be supported, held together on my darkest days by the help I was never given.

Alone in the darkness, 

I shattered.

I live in a world that cannot bear my raw emotion, 

my imperfect life that has always been filled with agony. I love in a world that cannot love me for myself because no one understands what I have lived through. 

They tell me I’ll be okay because they aren’t living through my struggles, and they do not realize I’m 

trusting them

with my life 

when I explain my pain.

I am thirteen and writing, 

writing poetry for those who need to heal, writing poetry so I can heal. I write for the broken, I write for the shattered. At thirteen I am writing for those who cry because they do not fit into a world that was not made to hold so much pain in one heart. 

And as this endless night continues

I hope you know

You’re not alone.

I am thirteen, writing. 

Writing because 

these broken hands 

hold the power to heal.