"what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
Is that what you say?

So,
When I was lying in bed, covered in my own blood, choking on my despair. When it hurt too much to speak or eat because there was no skin left on my lips. When they were so messed up at school the next day that I had to lie to my friends, that I had to lie about the scars that I'd caused, the scars that I would tear off when I was upset, only to be replaced by deeper ones.
Does that sound strong to you?

So,
When my arguments at home were so bad that my mother thought I hated her, that when I tried to apologise I broke down for fear of messing up and making things worse. When my father stormed into my room, finding me in tears and hyperventilating yet still screamed at me for making my mother cry. When I passed out, waking in my mothers arms on my bedroom floor with my sister  and my father having a screaming match. When everyone was crying but me because I was so far past crying that I couldn't move.
So you think that was strong?

So,
When my best-friend turned against me, jealous that I had known our shared friends longer, claiming that I hit and bullied her, that I abused and threatened her, leaving me friendless and alone in a class of people that I'd never thought to become closer to. When I was called to see the head teacher, confused and eager to look after someone I called my best-friend, but was accused of smashing her head against a brick wall and dragging her across the floor and I was too stunned to defend myself, and ended up having multiple panic attacks, and sat there blubbering like a fool, thinking that I was going to be expelled over my best-friend's lies.
Do you think I felt strong?

So next time you hear someone say,
"oh, well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
tell them,
to shut the hell up.

All the things I mention are all based on real events that I have experienced.
I hope this helps someone who reads it.

We fight.
We always fight.
And it always ends in me leaving,
Me yelling,
me slamming the door,
me crying.
And I hate that I'm so hard to deal with,
and I'm sorry...

I yell.
I always yell.
And it always ends up in you pleading,
you crying,
you apologising,
you shouting.
And I hate it when you cry,
and I'm sorry...

You try.
You always try.
And it always ends with us crying,
us hugging,
us forgiving
us talking.
And I hate that it takes so long for me to say;
'I'm sorry.'

dedicated to my sister grace, who has to deal with my explosive temper, my tears and my breakdowns. She is always there when I need her, and I rarely show her how much I care. So grace, if you're reading;
I'm sorry.  xxx

If I told you,
that my world was a mess,
and I cried out,
that everything I touched would burn up
or I whispered,
that every day I slowly die,
if I was screaming,
that everyone I love gets hurt,

what would you do?

"um... ,no," you say, "no, not really"
but You can't meet her eye,
You look up at me, too long, too meaningful.
She looks over to me, she shakes her head but I already know...

So, so - what?

Am I just supposed to forget that our eyes don't meet across the side of the room,
that I don't look away,
that you don't either.
Am I just supposed to ignore the way you lower your head when I whisper 'thank you.', simply because you held the door for me,
or the way you blush when you whisper back 'you're welcome.'
Am I supposed to pretend that I don't want to smile every time I catch you looking at me when I turn my back, when you think I won't notice.
Am I expected to overlook the fact that when I touch you, those brief, fleeting brushes, I feel a small flutter of hope.
So did I miss read you, or did you lie?
Or are you scared of rejection?
Or will you always
Forbid my love?

Blue pain.
The pain that shatters your soul,
The crushing sensation on your temples and the sides of your cheeks,
the crawling gargoyle writhing at the bottom of your stomach,
Blue pain.

Blue pain.
Pain without mercy, without witness, without redemption,
Godless, eternal, concrete.
You feel it in your blood, you hear it in your breath,
Blue pain.

Blue pain.
Burnt and twisted, scarring the skin that never sees light,
the pain which makes you sad, makes you cry,
makes you reach for the pills, makes you stretch for the knife...

Blue pain.
The pain which makes you die.

Keep running,
You scatter the crimson ashes of a world torn apart from the inside,
You're fearless.
The sky's a heather-purple, brooding above your head,
Keep going
You're a flaming comet, flying across this desolate wasteland that you once called home.
You cant stop now.
Your hooves cracking the death-dried mud, splitting under the fleeting touch of your feet.
Run.
Mane flying behind you, caught in the howling breeze; there's disaster in the air.
Run
This world borne by humans, this beautiful creation of humanity, this bright burning flame, snuffed out by their own stupidity.
RUN
The death-rattle of machine guns echo behind me, constantly driving me onwards,
Be strong.
Pounding heart louder than the pounding of your hooves or the roaring of the shells dropping beside you.
Be fast.
Earth explodes by your flanks, you feel the warmth of blood sticking to your coat.
Be brave.
Your withers tremble at the sound of the guns, your breath hot and shaky over your muzzle,
Be clever.
Your tail is matted with mud and blood, your knees are grazed and bleeding
Be
you have to stop, everything inside you is telling you to hide,
fearless

You charge on.

eyes are small and red,
lashes clinging close with tears,
shadows in your face
.

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