scars aren't pretty, but they form when you take a blow so hard you feel like you'll disintegrate on the spot, but somehow you're still alive when the dust clears.
sometimes things happen, your trust is broken and you cry so heavily that you don't know how you'll ever smile again, your heart is ripped from your chest and thrown at your feet, and isn't it funny how you're expected to walk away from that? isn't it just too much to handle, the heartbreak and the tears and the goddamn weight of it all, pushing you into the ground and grinding your face into the dirt? how can anyone ever heal from that?
but, you do. you pick up the pieces, your desiccated hands bleeding from the shattered bits of you scattered on the floor, and you trudge through the days and the weeks and the years, and maybe you don't notice it yet, but every step you take makes the burden lighter. every day it hurts a little less, you heal a little more.
it's horrible and tiring and it's never easy, but you do it. you do it and you become stronger. that's what makes you alive.
YOU ARE READING
poetry.
شِعرjust a place to keep all my poetry together. read if you must, comment if you dare.
