A poem from when I was sad

my heart is sore
from all the times I’ve kicked it
my heart is sore
I’ve stomped it to the ground
my heart is sore
and has become so twisted
my heart is sore
this pulp on which I pound

my mind is trapped
from all the lies I’ve fed it
my mind is trapped
I’ve shackled it with shame
my mind is trapped
inside constant discredit
my mind is trapped
I’ve forgotten my own name

my soul is skewed
I’ve torn off little pieces
my soul is skewed
ignominy abounds
my soul is skewed
my symptoms, also ceaseless
my soul is skewed
I’ve lost my final round

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