Wednesday, 1 June 2016


I know all about wars.

I know what it's like, laying face down on the ground and not being sure if you'll ever get back up again.

And I know what it feels like not being brave at all, not brave enough to face the landmine fields of reality, not brave enough to face another day, not brave enough to get out of bed.

I know how dangerous wounds are that won't stop bleeding. Out of holes facing inside I've lost litres and litres of blood.

Some days there are giants staring me down,
knocking on my door.

And I don't have an ounce of David in me.

Some days breathing in and out seems as difficult as trying to move mountains.

So, see, I know all about wars, even though I've never set foot on an actual battlefield.

I've waged wars all on my own,
in my mind,
head against heart,
heart against head.

But I'm winning a losing battle.

Some nights, sleep runs far away,
some days life leaves you
and somewhere in the middle of nowhere
you lose yourself.

Some days you discover that a few words can hurt more than bleeding knees or broken bones.

They say that time heals, but I want to know where all of that time went,
because I'm still hurting, after all this time.

But between one battle and the next, I've learned a lot.

Everyone is missing someone.
Everyone is sorry about something they said.
Everyone is sorry about something they didn't say.
Eventually, everyone discovers that the monsters haunting you at midnight look harmless in the morning light.
Everyone has scars, whether you can see them or not, whether they talk about it or not.

And above all, the most important thing that I dug up between ground where blood had spilled, was that everyone is fighting their own battle.