I used to play where silence lay,
Before the voices found their way.
A toy box world, a cereal grin—
Then something shifted deep within.
They said it’s you, don’t be afraid,
But fear was all the voices made.
They whispered loud, they wouldn’t veer,
They lived in thought, they fed on fear.
Too young to name the storm I felt,
Too old to ask for help or melt.
The bedtime songs turned into noise,
The shadows stole my inner voice.
I saw what others couldn’t see,
And thought it meant the fault was me.
But minds can twist and still be true—
And pain is something we walk through.
The world grew sharp, the days grew thin,
I fought a war inside my mind, not skin.
No cast, no crutch, no outward scar—
Just questions of what thoughts are.
But still I rose, and still I speak,
Though some days leave me worn and weak.
I learned to name what once was shame,
And light a fire inside the frame.
So if you feel your mind betray,
And voices won’t just go away—
You’re not alone, you’re not a curse,
You’re not the worst, you’re not perverse.
You are a soul, a beating heart,
A work of art that fell apart—
And stitched itself with thread unseen,
To walk again through what has been.
Speak loud. Be strange. Let silence bend.
Your story might just help a friend.
And if the dark begins to spin—
Let art, or breath, or truth begin.
— jason
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