It didn't matter how much it hurt me
inside
or
out.
All that mattered was that it hurt even more for someone else.
It doesn't matter that I'm sad, because whatever reason I have. Someone has a better one.
It doesn't matter that my mom neglects or hates me, because some kids are abused.
It doesn't matter that my dad abandoned us, because some kids were never born with one.
It doesn't matter that everyday at school the kids push me into lockers and beat me up, because there are some that can't afford it at all.
It doesn't matter that I've starved myself for three days, because someone has survived two weeks on nothing but green tea.
It doesn't matter that I have self-inflicted bruises all over my legs, because someone out there has cut themselves to the bone.
It doesn't matter that I've been getting high every night to numb the pain, because someone has been addicted to drugs for twenty years.
It doesn't matter that everyday my mind is silently screaming for someone to save me, because someone out there has already lost all hope.
It doesn't matter, because no matter how bad you are, someone always has it worse.
So go ahead and wait for it to get worse,
for me to be get as bad as you think I should be, to be worth saving.
But by the time you try to help,
It'll already be too late for me.
YOU ARE READING
Secrets Of The Broken
PoetryPoems and pieces of writing about the secrets of mental illness, insecurities, abuse, heartbreak, accepting yourself and recovery. Just want to let you all know you're not alone, and if you ever need to talk I understand *Trigger warning*
