The Recovery

A leak in the roof,
buckets fill with water.
Plaster cracking thin,
in the house that he had bought her.
Now up to her knees,
she has still not told a soul.
Thinking she was stronger,
than to get help from flood control.
The water levels rising,
the walls begin to shift.
She’s floating near the ceiling,
face down- begins to drift.
Frantically she covers cracks,
but it is much to late.
For the leaks have grown to become,
much stronger, big flood gates.
But enough about the water,
for it’s not what we drown in.
We drown inside the people,
and we drown in our own skin.
So don’t tell me to take lessons,
and don’t say that I should swim.
Cause it’s hard to rise,
when you’ve got ties,
that are pulling on your limb.

They ask me how I am,
and the answers always “good”.
But how can this be accurate,
when I feel misunderstood.
This answer is the default,
jumps out without a thought.
Cause no one is expecting you
to say that you’re distraught.
I paint on my best smile,
and I laugh at all the jokes.
Trying to distract myself
from thoughts that make me choke.
I’m playing out the part,
on stage I never trip.
The audience is clapping,
but there’s one who’s not convinced.
It’s me that’s sitting quiet,
Dead centre of front row.
I seem to be the only one,
who sees this puppet show.
Strings pulling at my arms,
and making my legs walk.
Someone else- my voice,
for I’ve forgotten how to talk.
The audience is cheering,
as the curtains touch the ground.
The show is surely over,
Till tomorrow comes around.
Tears on the pillow,
“I am depressed”
This is not something,
that is easily expressed.
As these words part my lips,
they leave an awful taste.
Like that shot at the party,
when you forgot to bring your chase.
Liquor down my throat,
take it like it’s nothing.
The words run through my mind,
try to quiet all the buzzing.
One shot, two shot, three shot, four,
how many does it take
to not feel things anymore?
My thoughts have consumed me,
I try to shut them down.
Every time I push them back,
they’re stronger next time ‘round.
I won’t roll with the punches,
No- I’ll send them right back.
Cause I know I’ve got to fight,
if I’m trying not to crack.
I don’t want to be the victim,
I don’t want to not have fun.
All I want is to be me again,
and the battle’s just begun.
The clay is in my hands,
and I’m stretching as I mold.
I decided to dictate my life,
striving for nothing less than gold.
Now I am not religious,
but I know one thing for fact.
If God does not have plans for you,
then it’s you who’s got to act.
Many may not get this,
or may not have seen it coming.
Those who think this is me,
well this thought itself is numbing.
I am not this person
who needs 3 shots to dance,
I am a blazing fire
if you’d give me the chance.
Look past my darkest days
That all have to some degree.
See me as the lighter
and the flame I plan to be.

-Leigh Raithby

Photo by

Edgar Allan Foe

mostly poet / witch / do-er of art and magic / caffeine fiend Leo Sun / Cancer Rising / Aquarius Moon

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