Growing up on a strict diet of idealism, tiny spoonfuls and a bitter dessert of disappointment.
We weren't fed to be made strong, we were made wrong.
Lying to ourselves, the world, then being lied to in turn.
It's all we knew because when we were new, they sculpted us.
Filled us with fatal dreams and delusions of being indestructible which, ironically, lead to our downfall.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me."
That's the dream.
An impermeable barrier on your very being.
Because can you honestly say you've never been cut by a name?
Round and round they go,
you're constantly haunted by the echoes of spiteful venom that was spewed out
and is now mirrored by your uncontrollable hatred for yourself.
This is what we made.
Completely dead within
destroying yourself from the inside, out.
You've got a war in your mind and battle wounds engraved on your skin.
Mental brokenness is just as bad as physical,
Difficult to function but harder to spot instead.

So try it, go on. I dare you, go ahead.

Try not to limp on a broken leg.