To all the hurting souls,
You are here
The vile potion of madness struck her like a lightening bolt gone astray. For what are we more than but a misty cloud roaming the night sky in the search for a shining star to give us the light and hope we are forever searching for. She walks the streets alone, every stride, every tiring step, in the hope of a sunny day in her foggy mind.
The bangs of my head felt somewhat hollow against the cold hospital walls, for some odd reason, everything feels cold here.
The cold grasp of the nurses hands as she tried to comfort me back to sanity. But dear God, what IS sanity in it’s most organic form? Is it like the flowers I arranged in my room last Tuesday? Slowly falling from a beautiful bunch into a dying state? The way they fall into a slump, I think, is the way sanity slips through my fingertips.
She rubbed her pretty little eyes with cold clenched fists, and collapsed to her knees in angst and defeat on the cold and dust plagued cement. There was dust everywhere, it seemed, in every fraction of the air there was at least 10 million dust particles filling the oxygen with its misty form, there was dust on the floors and in the walls, but most of all it covered him.
Through pain comes the need to outlet into many other forms, but one that resided with me was through poetry. I’m Kiarra Hope Lynch, I’m 23, and I grew up in a small town called Maryborough in Queensland, Australia. My poetry journey began when I was first admitted to a hospital in November of 2015. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and panic disorder. Poetry is what helped me articulate what was going on in my mind.