When My Daughter Cries

I see the pain behind her eyes, with an avalanche of tears held back by an empty smile.

Wandering the ruins of a psyche once owned by the “it's okays and I’m fine” throughout the years

A tormented silhouette that carries unsolicited burdens on her narrow shoulders, too heavy for Atlas to bear.

Negative thoughts are a loyal companion that vows to never abandon her, like the ghosts of her past.

The ashes in her heart replaced the euphoric soul of a juvenile who was once consumed with the mythologies of life

Her sobs are a symphony of anxiety, depression, and hopelessness skillfully led by self-loathing as an eager conductor

A cry for help that condenses immediately at the gates of her lips, for happiness is a rumor to a shattered heart

Her scars will heal but barely fade, yet we will never hear the deafening sounds of my daughter's wails.

The Bitter Poet