For Those Who Claim To Be

I have a question.
Did you know that I to hurt.
Did you realize that under my polished, bulletproof armor,
there is a person;
a girl.
Who hurts,
who bleeds,
who dreams,
and breaths.
Apparently not.
Because you fed me hate,
and made me drink bitter toxic venom.
I took a breath,
and you let others take it away.
Watched me suffocate in the hate of others.
While I fought.
My beautiful armor ruined and battered.
While you sat on your pedestal and giggled with the rest of those who we promised would never hurt us.
Just watched the one you claimed you cared for.
Watched the one who had been there when all else failed.
You let me sit there and re-assemble it.
While you sat and continued to tear it down.
but i had got through it.
You came back,
like you were.
Ready to butter and season me up,
though when I am at my best.
You'll put the stove on high and watch me again.
Burning,
lost,
begging and searching for a way out.
thing will be different now though.
Being a friend,
in any form for that matter,
is to be there in another's brightest or darkest hour.
Although you ceased to be in mine.
My eagerness to help yours won't be my initial reaction.
I am strong,
But I still do care, still have a beating heart and pulse.
I am here standing steady.
To fight these battles,
with those who claim to be,
my friend.





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