Life is stock piled
with hard pills to swallow.
Bitter medicine,
that is meant to make us stronger.
Instead of better,
some grow more bitter.
The cycle continues
until the clock stops ticking.
So many moments like pills in a bottle,
but why aren’t they all clicking?
Clouded by pain,
trauma will remain.
Until we finish the bottle,
and reflect on lessons learned.
It’s the last lap of the race,
and you’ve found peace in the chaos of your space.
You swallowed down every bitter little pill,
knowing how much growth awaited you still.
Those little pills opened your eyes,
helped you find truth in your own lies,
you cleaned the filth that attracted flies.
Shed your skin
and begin again.
About the Creator
Josey Pickering
Autistic, non-binary, queer horror nerd with a lot to say.
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Comments (2)
Nicely done!
This was so intense and poignant. Loved your poem!