She is proud of me...
The rank on the walls hold glory,
I stand upright as they praise me
with a warm smile, bouquets and blessings,
What they don't realise is,
I've been hanging by a thread, thin as the air,
The honour overwhelming
yet burdening like a weight,
like a rain filled cloud about to break,
They don't know
how the trinkets lie flat in my hand,
how cold these medals are
they fit in my palms with ease
their coldness sinking deep
as i sit alone,
My achievements lying beside me,
As the darkness embraces me
Like it feels, like it knows
that I've been holding it in,
my sorrows, my fears, my thoughts,
Every single feeling kept deep within my heart
comes creeping back in,
I know.. the honour is mine,
and I face it with a smile,
a smile I never thought would falter,
a smile I borrowed from my childhood...
She is proud of me,
But... am i proud of myself?
V
She is proud of me... The rank on the walls hold glory, I stand upright as…
