Ow that hurts, now everyone’s alert. A bandaid on my wrist. An apology and a kiss. Ow that hurts, said someone from afar. A bright cream bandaid stretched across my wrist, is that the only way you’ll see the pain, if it’s easily seen far and wide? Not the one that swallows me up from deep inside. What about the pain we can’t see, what about the agony under the smiles that we hide. Hiding away so the world won’t see, because if you really saw it, saw me, saw the rage and hurt, if you could feel… you would be afraid of me. So much anger, so much rage. Well, take a few steps back, and look at this from a page, a page inside my book, for you only judge the cover. Leaving me thinking, it’s a face only loved by a mother. Because what I show on the outside, express out loud. No one seems to care, no one seems proud. Proud of the courage it took to come forward, to admit the suffering I had to endure alone. Now it’s just me, with myself to atone. Atone to a sin, that I didn’t even commit. But of course, side with the needy one, always throwing a fit. My hands are clean, despite my slate being damaged. While “his” slate is butchered and battered, nothing but woes and wear. Wearing out the joy inside, the kindness and the acceptance. Wearing it down so much I’m not even sure what I was fighting for. Do we care for pain, as long as it’s something we can see? Hell I’d say so, because it happened to me. As long as I had a bandaid, people would show care, but if it was a blister on the inside of my heart… people wouldn’t dare. Dare look at me, speak, even see if I was alive. But they surround themselves with a manipulator, one full of nothing but lies.
Nahlej V |
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