You seem to hurt my heart, Repetitively, and the doctors say: "They can’t bandage a word broken heart," "When the bandage won’t be able to fix me," This is when my body mutates, Making it hard to breath , Or really do anything, This is when, My ribs, wrap around my heart, trying to protect it from you, and while my lungs were unprotected, and I was at a lack of breath, you seemed to take that, with any happiness you could find, And I sat there, Shaking, Then, Crying because it’s not even first period
what it feels like to have one, mine are because of my PTSD triggers