She wrote, but not enough
She cried, a little too much
Her smile, remained confined
Without, reaching her eyes.
She lived not- just survived
Her hope- was growing dark
She slept, each night in hopes
A new dawn, would not arrive.
But if- given the choice
To end her life for good;
She’d struggle, and rise above,
The waves- pulling her down.
She’s sad and just away
From despair, by an inch
And that makes all the difference,
Cause “almost” means- not there yet.
still writes, though not enough;
still cries, sometimes too much;
But she’s living, through sticks and stones,
And for now, that is enough.
The above image is courtesy of Jessica Alexandria