Fallen angels

Scars

I am weak.

I am breakable.

I am not a punching bag.

That you can punch with all your might.

And not protest.

I get hurt too quickly.

I get broken too easily.

I get cut too deeply.

I have scars.

Scars that wouldn’t go away.

Scars that are here to stay.

Scars that will always leave a filthy white line behind.

Scars that will always be a reminder.

Reminder of a pass I am dying to change.

I have tried- tried to stop the bleeding.

To stop the pain.

I have tried- tried to stop hurting myself.

But I can’t- I can’t stop.

What I have been doing for so long.

What I have become familiar with.

What I have become so depended on.

An act that both kills me and keeps me alive.

Even though I barely am.

I have a foot on each side.

And I am being dared which way I would step.

Would I give up?

Or.

Would I keep fighting?

But, Why should I even fight?

When I am convinced I am gonna lose.

I know I am not strong enough.

I know that I wouldn’t win.

But I can’t just stop.

I can’t give up.

Even though I am dying to.

I have to live with my scars.

I have to be friends with them.

They are part of me.

A part I can’t and wouldn’t live without.

I have my scars and you have yours.

I accept mine but do you accept yours?