The Warrior. A poem

warning: some mild triggers possible

The warrior

Trudging legs through mud like lead

Wading through old bones of the dead

Bleeding, cut, scratched, battered hard

Countless battles and journeys left her scarred

Traces of tears engrained on her bloody face 

from abuse, treachery, lies , she picks up pace

She has fought fights seen doom

 seen blackness, evil, and other gloom

On the surface , like the iceberg tips

Ripples of water, underneath seductive lips

Hidden Behind the mask of glitz and glamour

Behind the passionate and stein amour

The solitary warrior stumbles across on stony ground 

Cut and bleeding, no one else around

Her blonde hair is tangled, her make up smudged

Scarred and wounded onward she trudged.

Limping and in pain, heart ripped to shreds 

Her heart wanted no more than to be dead

To give up, to die 

Let the pain end, 

The constant suffering to lift and ascend 

But on she tramps, eyes filled with steel

Used, abused, searching for an emotional meal. 

And the scars are deep 

She cannot sleep

Nor rest

Nor feel content

Or at ease

She cannot trust, love or believe.

These things have been stolen from her, like the love of life 

Her past has had a very high price. 

Succubus to men she seduces to gain affection

Fill up the black hole in her empty pit of emotions

Mother, daughter, lover she is all three

But one things she wants she has to fight hard to see

Pure love back, despite all her scars, despite her wrong doings, a love to the stars

From total apathy to emotional tornado

Crushed and crumpled, used, chucked and tramplelled 

She trusts no one. Especially not her own head

Reality, paranoia, hallucinations which is which??

The rescuer, the supporter the one that knows what to do.

The one that workmates, friends and family turn to

Lost little girl

Emotional turmoil hits like pure grief in sobs

Peace, anxiety is what BPD robs

Panic, depression, lonely, anxiety, mood swings, hallucinations, delusions,  addictions, 

Appetite gone, sick and ache, wanting to self harm. 

No sleep, too much sleep, mania and shame. 

Wanting to die. Wanting to create a way to look like accidental suicide

Worry, guilt, self hate

Whore whore whore slut

Shit mum, waste of space, idiot, lazy 

bitch and bad to the core

And definatly a fucking whore. 

Over 25 years I have been that battle scarred warrior. 

Hardened from naive little girl looking for her prince to a fighter 

It’s overwhelming to keep trudging on.

Would love to lie down and let life be gone 

But I persevere a slither of hope is my light. 

Eternal optimist, I continue my fight

Inside I am scared, too much emotions I feel

In reality I am strong built from steel

But never underestimate the injured warrior as weak. 

Or silly, or blonde or meek. 

Im forged with fire and metal  made in hell

My spirit is scarred but cannot be quelled

My inner torment u will never see, 

the ones I battle in my head every second, 

I want to be free.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “The Warrior. A poem

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s