WHAT THEY DON'T SEE

They say it’s selfish—to long for rest, To whisper a prayer for peace To a god you’re not sure hears. But they don’t know the depth of your pain, The wound that doesn’t close. The path is yours alone. The scars, yours to carry. Reality often spits in your face, Wielding her power with a cruel grin— A bitch, if I’m honest. She drags your worst memories Back into the light— Maybe trying to help, But cruel all the same. Tell me, Wouldn’t you crave rest If you lived with the memories I hold? Wouldn’t rage rise in your throat When control slips through your fingers? So what then? What do you do When your mind begins to spiral, When it fails you in the moments you need it most, And even your rituals, your anchors— No longer work? What is left, When even your strength Can’t save you?