Whispers of the soul

To say I've made it this far,

without drowning in my own pool of

blood and tears,

is a miracle I never believed in.

But it's a new year,

and I'm still standing.

Still standing.

Ready to confront new adventures,

and the same old, same old–

mental illness,

that faithful shadow,

looming, waiting to fuck me over again.

But who cares?

I'm gonna live.

I'm gonna live to say I survived.

Not a victim.

A survivor

of the unimaginable.

This year has been hard.

But here we are.

Still standing.

Still standing.

And that–

that hits me deep.

Makes me nostalgic,

makes me sad.

Because I wanted to end it all.

And sometimes,

I still do.

That feeling–

it lingers,

a bird in a cage.

Wings clipped,

declawed,

like a flower in winter.

Wilting.

But now?

Now I'm a field of wildflowers.

No cage.

No winter.

Just color.

Blooming.

And I–

I am alive.