these old wounds that mar my skin
etched into the memory of myself
these bodies have memories
and if mine were made into a movie
it would be one hell of a horror story

i was raised in a nice home with good parents
and plenty of food for me to eat
and plenty of clothes for me to wear
so why do i bear these scars

i have an incredible support line
people who love and care about me
even my co-workers see that
why can't I?

if our happiness was determined by our support system
then i would be the happiest ******* person on the planet

my tombstone will read:

took so much
gave so little

gone so soon
but not soon enough