My eyes feel swollen.
Tap on my shoulder with the wind
which does not brush against my hair,
but banishes my body unto where my knees hit the ground
and shatter like the thoughts in my head
which are as fragile as glass when you say a word to me.
Three words.
Three are overwhelming, so
stop lying to me!
I am fifteen,
and we are not on television.
Call me names.
I dare you.
I'm weak? Call me weak.
Your face will be so far
far away behind bars which taunt
you and YOUR weakness.
This I am writing freely,
cause you put the words in my head.
You can't wait to see me,
But you wish I was dead.

I can breathe.
Because I am alive.
Through you,
I have survived.
Your weakness
has strengthened me.