They pushed her over the edge.

The girl would always end up on her own.

The pretence of love quartering her.

The words that ended up cold on her skin.

 

Friends that plagued her further,

A family that continued to misinterpret her.

She had inherited the patterns and mourned the oppressed.

She gave herself away for less and less.

 

Believing in a fake purpose and identity.

What others thought of her.

A reality that could never be hers.

Whilst others preach of support, they are stuck in the same circle,

And remain silent, spread apart, without action or motion.

 

It’s not the first time that she stood on a cliff,

Ready to wave herself off.

But what she was taught to believe can be harshly undone.

It’s the other way around, actually, she is at the bottom of the cliff,

Always has been, and is facing it from below, her hands waiting

To hold on to the cold stone and make it towards the view that changes everything.

Daphne_From_Deverial_painting

“Daphne” by Deverial

 

 

 

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