If you are looking for a mantra or prayer, she said, let it be this one
There is more to me than my worst nights.
Even in the darkness, I preserve my light.
(One time I knocked the lamp on my night stand down by accident. As the broken glass scattered all over the floor I didn’t bother to tiptoe to the door to get the broom. I just did what I always do. I spread out on my bed. Eyes closed. Shutters down. No light coming from the nightstand.)
There is more to me than my worst days.
To never forget this is the reason I pray.
(I sometimes wonder if there is some symbolic meaning in how I didn’t care about the broken glass between the piles of dirty clothes and empty cornflake boxes. How I just didn’t care when I walked through my room with bare feet.)
I am more than the cycle that keeps on repeating.
I am more than the voices I am tired of fleeing.
(After two weeks, I finally got the broom and cleaned up my entire room.)
I am more than my demons I am tired of fighting
I will keep the flame burning, I will keep on writing.
(I sometimes wonder if it is luck or poetry that I never cut my feet once.)
There is more to me than my worst nights.
Even in the darkness, I preserve my light.
There is more to me than my worst days.
To never forget this is the reason I pray.
(Sometimes I am still the girl that walks through her room with bare feet.)
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