They ask me how it doesn't hurt me anymore-
The words that sting, the words that insult, the words meant to break, the words meant to hurt-
They ask how, so as to learn how not to get hurt,
Or at best, to learn how not to feel.
I tell them it didn't matter what they say to me anymore,
For I faced the worst in face of everything,
And came back-alive but my former self dead (that sensitive soul of mine died and came back as a corpse; still finding a way to be alive once more).
If you ask me how to not hurt,
I can only tell you this:
It's impossible not to get hurt,
But it's possible to stop feeling,
If you only know how to be dead.
YOU ARE READING
Dead While Breathing | Poetry
PoesíaThere are many ways to die when you're still breathing. Started on 3rd August 2019
