Dedicated to DivergentDanceFreak my awesome beta reader.
If you are moved, touched or simply like this poem review, share with a friend and post onto you profile.The next quote is: " The voices that taunt me, make me stronger."
When someone tells you that they hear voices, what do you think?
You assume they are crazy. Mentally unstable.
Hearing ghosts, perhaps.
But no one asks
what kind of voices.
They don't need to- we
all
hear them.
Yours; Theirs;
Our own.
We hear the screams of those who judge us,
criticism
pounding
in our ears.
The insults that they give us in constant repeat,
a consistent reminder of the
failures
we
are-
The prettiness stripped, the brains not present,
the abnormality clearly seen.
How we can never be good enough;
The voices
echo.
The soft whisper
makes the back hairs of my neck stand up.
I freeze and become stiff.
And then I close my ears and shut my eyes.
But the barrier of my hands won't stop them
from calling.
And I shake and shiver.
Not from the cold.
But the coldness of the words.
And when we ask for help, they just want
to
lock us away.
Isolate us, leaving us to
battle
these voices ourselves.
It's like having weapons but no army.
Weapons being the will to go on.
But lack of support; the vacant army.
I feel the emptiness.
And the voices get worse and the
isolation
goes from involuntary to
self inflicted.
We get away from others so no new voices can
enter.
And they get louder. Stronger.
The voices of the dead, the ones that are gone because of my doing;
The voices of the forgotten, the ones that I have lost along the way-
Their words haunt me.
They
do
not silence.
And I can't refuse to listen.
I keep walking while they trail along, until eventually they
become one with the background noise.
And
in
the
background
there
is
darkness.