Everyone who says words don’t hurt

should spend a night trying to sleep despite the itching rash on the back of their neck

that formed because they hated themselves so much their body had an allergic reaction

like their skin was a suit that didn’t fit right over the bumps and scars and welts and bruises of hundreds of terrible words

singed and beaten and cut into their skin out of the mouth of someone who was supposed to love them unconditionally

don't ever let them tell you monsters aren’t real

monsters are real but they aren’t dragons or demons

they walk around in the skin of your father and spew fiery hatred from their cavernous mouths without ever laying on hand you because oh no

that would be too easy

a bruise will fade in time but the scars on your mind from every awful word he ever pointed at you tears at you worse than a bullet from a gun

it’s shrapnel of the soul, ripping you apart from the inside every time you move or think or breathe or speak

sometimes i wish that he’d hit when i was 13 instead of calling me stupid and fat and ugly

because one fist to face and he’d be out on his *** where he belonged

instead he just made it so poetry is a from of physical therapy

where you cut yourself open and bleed words from your soul

like a desperate snake bike victim draining poison and blood from their veins

and at night you lie in bed and listen to the quiet beating of your fragile swollen heart

still here, still here, still here, still here, still here

you dont know if it's a reminder or a threat anymore

living is too hard but you're too weak to die so you suffer through every day

slowly and without confidence that you can make it through another

and like a person sent to war you think it's over when you get to leave the trenches

but you're wrong

the battle wages on in your head for years

none of your wounds have a chance to scar and heal as they get ripped open over and over again

you spend your life running confused and scared in a haze of blood loss

until finally your legs give out and you can't run anymore

and when someone tries to offer you a hand and pick you up

you're gun shy

it's okay, it's not your fault really

to others the world has been an oyster but to you it's felt like an iron maiden

but your comrade persists and pulls you gently to your feet

and tries to wrap your soul in bandages of pretty words

and bits of wisdom you need but don't want to hear

you try not to let them unravel, you know it would hurt him, he was so careful in not grazing the raw parts of you when he put them on

but sometimes it just happens

so he holds your hand and wraps you up again and lays beside you at night

listening to the quiet beat of your fragile, swollen heart

please stay, please stay, please stay, please stay, please stay