MY DISORDER IS NOT A CHOICE.
My disorder is not a choice,
It isn't my wilfull doing.
I could try and hide my feelings,
Suppress every urge to spill,
And should I be a placid facade,
Rest assured it's but conjecture.
For my disorder is not a choice.
I can't choose when I have my next break down,
When my limbs refuse to move,
When my head bursts into screams,
When my voice shrinks to whispers,
When my tears don't cease to flow,
When my rage blows out of proportion,
When my shadows and my reflections,
Cage my brain, my heart and being,
Pulling them to the ground,
To dimensions far from reality,
Pulling them away from me,
A self written tragedy.
If anything, I can choose,
to not show you broken ground,
To not let the wear and tear resurface,
To keep all screams encased in silence.
I can try to stop my darkness from spilling,
Into puddles and oceans before you,
I can choose to stay mum,
Let storms rage under skin,
I can choose to keep you away from gore,
But I cannot CHOOSE to win.
Post and caption creds: @aira.shetty
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