A soul grieves, not because of others

But because of thyself.

Even if it mourns every second,

one soul can never choose its master

One can only despair and persevere;

an everlasting struggle of might and defeat,

truth and lies, shallow or deep

How does a soul grieve?

Does it cry, scream or flail?

Does it simply keep you awake at night,

induce nightmares and insinuate insomnia?

Can a soul be broken beyond repair?

So dear, all you have to do is be soul-less,

All of those pain, tears and demise;

throw it underneath your pillows

cease them to exist,

and appear to be whole even though apart in pieces.

"I stopped going to therapy because I know my therapist was right and I wanted to keep being wrong. I wanted to keep my bed habits like charms on a bracelet. I did not want to be brave. I think I like my brain best in a bar fight with my heart. I think I like myself a little broken. I’m okay if that makes me less loved.

I like poetry better than therapy anyway. The poems never judged me for healing wrong." - Clementine Van Radics