Between anxious thoughts and swampy stagnation,
I fear the space I inhabit is above my station.
The sum of my parts is greater than this shell,
Though I still feel I'm wading through the pits of hell.
Remember, an empty shell is tangible potential,
So I smack down this crisis existential.
A mere intermission between trauma and healing,
I can sit and be okay with this dreadful feeling.
I have come so far to be where I am now,
I just wish things came easier to me somehow.
Used and parentified, a mummy bang-maid
Trauma so deep I feel my soul fade.
But I'm still here despite them and their demons,
I'm so much more than their bastard-heathen.
It'll take time and I shouldn't be so hard,
On myself for coming as far as I have.