May

But words are just words, and lies will always be lies.

Maybe summer will reveal the truth, and the phrases that sit beneath my scars 

I bare myself before them, and welcome my feelings; they’re tougher then that, and stronger then me. So I break apart, their ignorance leaving bruises on the back of my hands; hands that I don’t even recognize anymore.

Who am I supposed to be? Because i am never enough. But I am all that I know. And if they tell me to be softer, I will remind them I am jaded, and sharp. That each piece of me has carved a hole in someone else. So if you want me to change, you mustn’t stay. 

And I’ll walk the shores alone and collect shells instead of these reasons to run. 

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