Her words were like the edge
of knives
threatening my throat
She came down at me
Continuously
Unceasingly
Endlessly.
and everything black and white would
spill in the form of mauled speech.
and I
would be left in a pool of words that could craft
the speech of a joker.
And these... knives
not only gave me continents of pain with just its paper fine edge
but took away my dignity on the horizon of its merciless surface.

The sight of him won't knock me off my feet like Alp's wind,
but just enough to make baby breaths blossom
at the edges of my heart.
But baby breaths don’t last long.
for they wither with every second I float up
to the surface of realization, a realization of how stupid I was,
to let myself fall into the dark depths so easily.
He hated how I looked.
He hated how I laughed.
He hated how I’m so loud.

They treated me as an outcast.
It was just because I couldn’t quite tame my hairstyle,
Couldn’t quite do a proper split.
Couldn’t quite get satisfy everyone's idea of a perfect skirt length.
Couldn’t quite paint my nails without getting some out of the pale pink space.
Couldn’t quite have a meal and not ending up having greasy lips.
They wore hair spray that suffocated me with trend and fake personalities.

People ask me
Is there really not a single thread of grudge restraining at your heartstrings?
Why don't you push her head and force her to drown in her own insults?
Why not ruffle up his hair and tell him this fitted him better than his cheap hair gel?
That their hair sprays and make-up were just explicitly a futile effort?

I answer them
Indeed, there are grudges restraining at my heartstrings
But an eye for and eye makes the world go blind.
Though I care for my dignity
In which she has torn apart
My confidence
In which he has demolished
My reputation
In which they have successfully destroyed,
I have found boldness to forgive them.

I looked at her,
Everyone labeled her mean.
She hurt everyone that came her way too
With her crude words
But no one saw
The cuts on her wrists,
How her eye bags got worse each day
And how she starved herself each day,
Getting scrawnier as the clock ticks by.

I glanced at him,
He has never gotten good grades
I know he is working really hard
To make his parents happy
But
I wonder if his parents work hard for him or
If they drink a lot or
If they are too demanding
I know his shoes have holes in them because
When it rains he always complains about wet socks.
Maybe he feels so out casted because he has too little.

I stared at them as they walked down the hallway
Everyone sees them strutting
But deep inside, they are running
Running away from the lives that they have been living in for too long.
Parents who each have 70% of their body fluid made up of alcohol
Some of them don’t even have a complete family they can go back home to.
Running away wasn’t easy
When their feet are bind by the immense pressure
Of an incomplete family
They could only find comfort in the weaknesses of other people
And indulging in a fake persona

Bold from all the insuppressible emphasis
To let go
Those words and actions
Were untold stories
That only their pride could hide
And they might not know
For I don't need to read them inside out
Just turn them over, watch their back, read their blurbs, and learn that no matter how terrible, every story is a story worth to appreciate.