Whispers of the soul

The struggle is real, or so they say,

Words full of truth that won't fade away.

For me, it's a storm, an endless tide,

An ocean of chaos I cannot hide.

Sharks circle close but never bite,

A threat that lingers through the night.

My demons push, then pull me near,

Feeding my doubts, my endless fear.

Sometimes I yield to their cold embrace,

Losing myself in their shadowed space.

I dream of a field, wildflowers swayed,

A sunlit haven where fears might fade.

Bright in the cold, they bloom, they thrive,

Against all odds, they stay alive.

But I am a magnet, split apart,

Repelling the love that haunts my heart.

Push and pull—that's all I know,

Fearing the pain that closeness may show.

When you come near, I shove you away,

Then ache for your warmth when you can't stay.

How can I trust you won't judge my scars,

Won't leave me stranded beneath fading stars?

In my paradise, the flowers now wilt,

The sky turns gray, heavy with guilt.

Rain pours down; I stand alone,

Lost in the wreckage of seeds I've sown.

"It's not my fault," I try to believe,

But the echo whispers, "Grieve, just grieve."

I hate them now—those who shaped my pain—

For I can't hate myself again and again.

To befriend my demons would mean my end;

They're not allies, nor even pretend.

So tell me, how do I make it fit,

To piece the puzzle and not submit?

For now, I'll mask, though the weight takes its toll,

And hide the fractures inside my soul.