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Nora Kelli Poem
There’s no way to shape this storm in my mind—
No sentence smooth enough, no line refined.
It’s not a story meant to make sense,
It’s a finger-painted mess, no pretense.
A ruined town after the hurricane,
That’s my brain.
They said God doesn’t make mistakes,
That pain is part of what it takes
To learn, to grow, to understand.
But how does that work when He let you die
With ache in your chest and tears in your eye—
Begging for love while pushing it away,
Needing the rush, never strong enough to stay?
He put your soft soul in a place so cold,
Where love was traded, bartered, sold.
You mimicked what the broken showed,
And the reason? You’ll never know.
She was told depression meant the bed—
But she stayed anywhere else instead.
So how could she name what she wouldn’t see?
Her sickness dressed in ecstasy.
Pills not hers and nights too loud,
Fake affection in a faceless crowd.
She hated life with passion deep—
But even that, she couldn’t keep.
If depression made you sleep away the day,
Then she was something else, she’d say.
Up through the silence, down through the sun,
Mascara armor when the tears would run.
She filled her days so no one knew
That she was hollow, split in two.
She fed the dark whatever it craved,
Whatever dulled, whatever saved.
And when nothing worked, she drank instead—
Trading pain for numbness in her head.
Almost twenty now, and I still drown
In thoughts that never quiet down.
I reach for the hand that’s cold but kind—
Addiction wraps me, ties me blind.
Every drink, a sweet escape,
Each sip, a lie I let reshape.
One drink: I see his disappointed eyes.
Two drinks: I count the broken ties.
Three: I hear the words I swore.
Four: I’m trapped in nights before.
Five: The hands, the tears, the screams.
Six: I laugh inside dead dreams.
Seven: It never mattered at all—
Until I fall.
I don’t want to remember.
Forgetting feels like peace.
Better to burn away the thoughts
Than beg the pain to cease.
Sober is a crueler fate—
I die faster when I wait.
So here’s to the bottle, the only one near,
Who whispers sweet nothings I long to hear.
See you on the other side,
Where the hurt can no longer hide.
Where the flame still burns,
But at least it doesn’t cry.
Copyright © Nora Kelli | Year Posted 2025
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