The Broken People

I’ve begun to pick up the broken pieces

of my heart.

It’s a slow process but 

it gets easier every day.

Every tear that doesn’t fall

every time I smile

every time I laugh

its a win.

 

A win for the broken people

the beings that seem so whole on the outside

no one digs any deeper to find the 

broken person on the inside.

 

A win for the people hurting

the ones that cry themselves to sleep at night

because of the loneliness they feel

even in a group of people.

 

A win for those whose greatest enemy is the mirror

the ones that can’t look at their reflection 

without feeling some form of hatred 

for what they see.

 

A win for the people who sat in bed

staring at those pills 

debating on if it was worth it

if anyone would care.

 

A win for the people who stayed up all night

talking their best friend out of those pills

convincing them that they’re worth it

that they’re loved.

 

A win for every broken person 

that hides their true feelings.

that cries themselves to sleep at night,

whose worst enemy is the mirror hanging in their room

the one’s that didn’t take those pills,

and the one’s that stayed up all night.

It’s a win

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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