Black Girl Lost

     ​In my weakest moments when all I can breath is despair and sorrow adorns my head replacing my crown of glory the thought of death comforts me. It sneaks up on me and whispers how much I would be satisfied with life if I just rolled over and died. But if I died I wouldn’t be able to live to see all the tears she’d and hearts full of pain. How many will attend my funeral ad who would be shocked, and those that would gossip about the fact that I took my own life. So would it be worth it? There has to be other ways to express my pain. 

    I’ve reached a point where bad communication doesn’t work for me any more. Ive realized how childish I become when life doesn’t go my way, or when I’m full of emotions, or just emotionless. Like a infant child, I scream, cry. Like a toddler I fall down kick and scream. 

     The difference between me and the toddler is I have a voice to speak for myself. As a child that little girl was always silenced. But at times even my silence spoke for me. Those demons who took control of my life spoke for me. But now I’m a grown woman. I speak for me. I have a voice. I will not be silenced any longer. I am breaking free and removing the muzzle given to me during my captivity. 


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