If I could be hurt until my skin transformed from the warm caramel color into the darkness of the night intertwined with the mystic purple, it would receive the sympathy of others.
If I could wear my heart on my sleeve for others to see that their words pierce through me,
fragile as if it was a sheet of paper being seduced by the flames of the fire,
to see that I cannot withhold the pain that escapes through the corners of my eyes.
Do not be mistaken,
for I am not a child to be played with.
Do not be mistaken as to who I am.
Fragile, I may be, yet I know my own strength.
I've cut myself in the pieces of my heart, trying to fix what is broken,
as if my demons kissed my wounds for them to reappear but much deeper than before.
A love deeper than the ocean, enough to carry you along the way,
yet...
strong enough to drown you in the currents.
A beautiful chaos,
a contradicting mess.
What more can I be?
If the only thing I see is the tears flowing through me.
Sympathy is not what I need for people do not care what occurs to me,
for people do not ask,
robots of our own destruction.
As if our only hope is love,
a love to cure our brokenness that the world marked upon each and every one of us.
Yet,
if pain can be perceived through our bodily homes, would people bother to care more?
Would people bother to realize the immense amount of effort being put,
to put one in front of ourselves?
To push through the pain that resemble 4 walls caving in.
A beautiful chaos is all that my heart makes up to be.
Pain that enters me like the air I breathe, yet when I exhale, butterflies are racing back into the universe.
Allow me to be the light that those walking in the dark gravitate towards
Allow me to be the warmth that guides those troubled souls into safety
Allow me to remain in the same spot for those who leave will remember where I once lay,
in case that their days go grey,
and they're in need of a stay.
Allow me to be the beautiful chaos to light up the lives of those who have been through the dark abyss of their demons,
who have been beaten by the world yet the colors of the bruise does not translate through our skin,
yet do not be mistaken,
for the light can also burn.
YOU ARE READING
My Story
PoetryLife has been a constant rollercoaster. I've struggled with properly dealing and healing from traumas but writing has and will continue to be my primary outlet of such emotions. Enjoy and never forget, life moves on.
