I wear my bruises like a medal, stitched with spite and silver thread,
A marionette with tangled strings, a puppet better left for dead.
I bite down ******* bitter endings, taste the rind, ignore the pulp,
Squeeze the past into a poison, drink it down without a gulp.
They say I talk like I’ve been cursed, like I’ve been carved from sharpened stone,
Like I was raised by sleepless nights and left to burn out on my own.
But I was never one for mourning, never one to bow or break—
I'd rather claw the sky to pieces, take what’s mine, and call it fate.
I’d trade my name for twenty dollars, sell my shadow just to breathe,
What’s a soul if not a burden? What’s a lie if you believe?
I spit my sorrow down the drain, watch it spiral, watch it fade,
Everything I used to be was just a debt I never paid.
You call me reckless like it’s tragic, like my hands weren’t built to bruise,
Like I was born to fit in cages, born to settle, born to lose.
But love was never something gentle, never hands that held me tight,
Just a wager placed at midnight, just a lesson learned in spite.
So let the fruit rot in the basket, let the knife slip in too deep,
Let the sugar turn to venom, let the prayers put me to sleep.
I’d trade my time for twenty dollars, bet against my own regret,
If I can’t rewrite the ending, I’ll make **** sure they forget.
I made this for part of a collection for this competition but I felt it didn't meet the criteria for being age appropriate for middle and highschoolers.