I don’t think you get it.
I don’t think you can grasp how hard it is for me.
Every morning I wake up
And every place he touched me burns and hurts as if they are fresh wounds
As if I’m a scarred soldier returning from a war I used to think was love.
I felt ***** and disgusting.
I felt impure and rotten.
I hated myself more than I even thought imaginable.
So I romanticized the feelings of hurt and I exposed the scars on my body as if they were a sight to be seen.
All of them.
Every inch of me was not mine
Every breath I took belonged to another.
Every single moment I lived was for someone else’s pleasure.
Because that was my worth.
He took the one thing I had left that belonged to me.
I was broken but I couldn’t bare to admit to what had broken me.
I couldn’t handle accepting that I fell in love with the devil.
“These are not bruises,” I would pronounce proudly. “They are marks of true passion.”
I turned pain into something so beautiful that the word ‘love’ was simply not enough.
It was meant to be.
I told myself that everyday because you told me that there are no accidents.
“God will put the right people in your life,” you assured me.
So I believed in those words and told myself I was wrong for hurting and that I loved him so it was fine.
That was the spring when something in me died when it should have bloomed.
And that was the summer when I was too scared to fly any closer to the sun,
So it reached down and set me ablaze instead.
That was the year I could no longer believe that a God could exist among such terrible things.

In this rule book I carry till the day I die,
first lesson is; you have to learn to lie,
and cover those wounds with a wistful sigh,
'cause penguins wouldn't be loved the same if they could fly.

If i were daft enough to falter
and die next Tuesday week
Would anyone
Be kind enough to care?

And If it were on Wednesday
when they laid me down to rest
Would it just be me and t’ vicar
who were there?

He was a kind man, softly spoken,
but never lost for words.
I knew him well,
but wished I'd known him better:
we had so many things to do
and thought there would be time
to do them later.
This, sadly, wasn't  true.

But maybe they're important
these things we leave undone
They could be what keep us strong
and standing tall.
For who knows?
If we'd done all of them
there might be nothing left at all.