Her madness needs to stop,
She’s only been suppressing
Everything without understanding
The end of the emotional dagger
Roaming inside her like a beggar
Living on her sadness.
She doesn’t listen,
She stays away to glisten
In the falsity of her fake smile
That shines on people a mile
Away, trying to get their shit together
While hers gets coated in gold
And dances in the rubble and turmoil
Of her own misconceptions.
She sits late at night thinking
How she could be raising
Her spirit in a way that would
Be helpful, that could
Heal the ridden ashes
That fly, but she crashes
Into the shatters that have
Been laid ahead of her.
Shaped into the figure of a soul,
They had only one goal,
To be free of pain, alive, well
And healed and creative and aware
Of everything around them,
Of everything hurting them.
The soul wished to block that hurt away,
In a way that would stay in her mind
As she tries to sleep at night,
As she tries to work during the day.
But even blocking it away
Never does the work,
For it seeps through her veins
And finds a way out,
Only to rise and haunt.
About the Author:
Christina Batrouni is a fourth year English major at the American University of Beirut with a minor in creative writing. She has been published by UNICEF and worked for AUB’s newspaper Outlook and was published there too. She currently started writing poetry and is getting featured on astainofink.com. She also directs movies and loves photography.
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