Inner Triumph

It won’t let me breathe,

It lives inside me and when I am alone it comes out and ties a knot around every fiber of my being that even breathing becomes hard.

It won’t let me talk,
When someone asks me what’s wrong. 

It won’t let me eat,
When I put food in my mouth, it gushes it all out with all the force in the world.

It won’t let me sleep,
It hugs me good night with its scary little paws, and I shiver in my bed all night long.

It won’t let me get up in the morning,
It holds my hand and takes away all my strength. 
It holds me so tight that I fall back into my bed.

It won’t let me see.
It puts all my feelings and thoughts and tangles them into each other until it is all foggy and I can’t recognize myself anymore.

It won’t let me walk,
It holds my feet with all its strength until I fall on my knees and cry like a little baby.

But it still hasn’t won.

I still get up and drink my coffee in my favorite mug.
I water my lily flowers and they smile back at me.
I take the longer route to school so that I get to see my favorite corn field. 
I hug my friends and tell them it’s alright.
I tell them it’s okay it lives inside me too.

All these years,
And it still hasn’t won.
And it still hasn’t won.