We can't always be strong

even the toughest
and largest things
on this earth
get worn down a little
here and there

I have strength
and courage inside me

it yearns to come out
while the tears fall down my cheeks
and erode the skin
on my face

I'm not gone, yet

only small pieces
have been chipped away

I'll be okay

here I am,
I'm still standing

I may not be what I used to be
but maybe there is a new beauty
to be found
from what I have become

We all breath the same, no?
We all have beating hearts, yes?
We all have a brain, and limbs, and lips, and eyes, and thoughts, and feelings, and, and, and...
So, why must we make such a mess?
Why must we fight and hurt others simply because what they have isn't a replica of ours?
Why must someone with one skin pigment be treated any differently then someone with another.
Why must other peoples opinions be down sized for no other reason except that they aren't ours?
Why do we hate each other because we're different?
Why in this already destruction filled world do we destroy others down to build ourselves up?
Why?
Why?
Why?
What is wrong with us?

So maybe I can say that
I'm "clean" from self harm
because I stopped puncturing my skin
my arms are free from scars


but does it not do the same thing
to trace back old memories
of you and I
and feel the same sting in my stomach?
the same stab from the same type of let down
only this time without a drop of blood for proof of pain

Am I not hurting myself every time I pretend
that I'm okay like this

The scars have healed atop my skin
but the ones within will never get the chance
because every chance that I get to step forward
I take to stay in place,
or in the past
wherever you are still a part of me
and any time where I do not have to close my eyes to have you back

You said you were scared to lose me.
Perhaps the reason is because all of your
close friends have left except for me.
When I asked you why you were scared,
you said you are scared to lose me because
you love me. I love you too, but know this
love is not fear, and fear is not love.  

© Matthew Harlovic