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

Your worst enemy is the one you hold the closest.
The one who knows your weaknesses and buttons better than anyone.
Knows the breaking point of me better than most.
The countless arguments, countless laughs, and deep conversations have made me aware of his soft spots, as well.
Somehow, we haven't managed to break each other yet.
Every argument we have is restrained, by the invisible cage we put on ourselves.
We hit, and leave each other bleeding, but also stitch each other back up.
Our fights are brutal.
When we talk to each other, there is a slight feeling of unease that causes us to pull back when we speak to each other,
analyzing what is appropriate to say to one another.
But we cut the tension with a knife that we hide in our back pocket.
There is a naturalness in the conversation.
A flow in the river that is not forced.
A wind that doesn't hit you in the face.
When we are together we are dangerous.
A ruthless team with internal problems.
Opposites but alike.
Normals but freaks.
Teammates but rivals.
That's us for ya.

When asked to describe myself, I only give internal details.
" Oh, I'm nice, friendly, thoughtful.."
in fear of revealing how I truly feel
So when the question is proposed, my hands get sweaty.
My thoughts rush all over, words hanging on my tongue, but never long enough to formulate a statement.
To say I'm pretty is a lie in my eyes, for my opinion on myself differs from day to day.
I try to sound humble and somewhat confident when I say, "I'm pretty, I guess. I have nice hair."
Immediately, failed the confidence test, but they can't know the truth.
Not how I cried myself to sleep way too many times in a week.
Not how I held myself and tried to stop my body's shaking as the tears rolled my face.
Not how I looked in the mirror and was terrified of my own reflection.
They just can't.
I must keep up the image. The mask can't fall or slip now.
I hope no one can see the string. -nijah v