Abuse beats me.
No, its not really a person. I haven't
Seen the shape of a fist purpled on my cheek in a while.
But Abuse beats me.
Its as if my mind is a dead horse,
It has been mentioned and disregarded and degraded.
When I exclaim again why I am going insane,
I am pushed and tripped,
Crammed into a locker my shoulders cant fit in.

My cheeks cant hold up my lips.  
They have lost their drive unless you string them up like puppets.
That's all a smile is. Hiding from hardships from behind my teeth
Like lies that desperately want to be told.
But no matter how many truths I tell,
They are dismissed as excuses.
What if I did see the beauty in things and
Know what it was like to inflict pain inside myself?
What if I did fight against the one monster we all fear, but
Revived it when I thought I had given up again?