The Shanty

The Shanty
where I grew up

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Beautifully Damaged

I think I die in my dreams.
I can’t handle the awake times right now.
But ending life is not my way.
My dreams appear and make me suffer.
Dark clouds rain down pieces of myself.
My ego, my damaged mind, my heart.
I see the worst parts of me swirling in disaster.
Bouncing with hatred and pain.
These make-believes become my reality.
I cannot decipher between the two.
My tears become a puddle at my feet.
My screams are silenced by bravado.
All those I trust become devils.
They scratch my skin off and let me bleed.
I look up, down, all around for someone to save me.
They never come.
Fingers point to me and heavy amusement is heard.
But I’m damaged I plead!
I was born this way!
Someone needs to save me! To have pity on my soul!
If I could just believe what many have offered…
That I am lovable and worthy of joy.
But I don’t want to go to sleep.
And I can't stand to be awake.
I am definitely in pain and sorrow.
I want to find my limbo and feel my smile.
I want to believe that it’s up to me.
And I want to believe that I
Repaired is what I would like to be.
Fixed independently,
Is what I am trying to find.
No more death by night
No more suffering by day.
Learning to love myself as
Beautifully damaged,
Is the way.
The path I must find.
The truth I must believe.
Beautifully damaged is me.
Beautifully damaged is me.

1 comment:

  1. I love this poem very much. I would like your permission to use it on our website. Ironically our web address is:

    If you need further information, please contact me @