It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived

i love you,
and to prove it,
i need to end myself?
it's not  that I'm scared,
but i would die,
not knowing,
if you smiled,
when you knew,
i loved you more than myself

she is a happy ending,
not everyone can wait for.

I've always hated
that question.

I've wanted to die
since I was
eleven years old.

Isn't that
reason
enough?