The Untold Stories

I wonder if I will ever be able to tell them what it was like...

what it was like to cry myself to sleep, every day.

what it was like to not want to wake up in the morning.

For the time has gone,

And I am still alive.

I wonder if it is possible to weave those emotions and days into words?

The threads are loose and I am short of words

The words that I have are not enough,

To contain the emotions I felt back then.

I can't find a way to let these stories out,

They are buried inside me. Somewhere.

But I don't think they feel trapped.

My soul is their home,

and this is where they belong.