“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”
Oh darling…
After years of being bullied,
Bullying myself,
Are you aware the state I’m in?
My hands, they shake.
My head, it spins.
To be trapped in your own mind,
To be hooked on a drug they call sadness,
It’s torture.
I am a POW.
A prisoner of the war I am at with myself
When my mind says “Move on”,
And my heart says “Hold on”,
And my body says “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take”,
Who to listen to?
So I am punished for everything broken in my life
As I grasp through the darkness,
Trying to glue it all back together,
Ignoring the cuts the sharp shattered dreams bring,
But I’m so tired of self-pity.
So tired of holding onto people and things that have long left my life
Hoping one day
These real eyes
Will realize
When those real lies are told
So I can stop and ask myself is it really worth it.
Or better yet, am I really worth it?
Or am I just a complication?
Someone who you would be better off without,
At least you won’t have to act like you love me.
Lie about being there for me,
Dangle in front of me the possibility of happiness,
Then pretend to help me pick up the pieces of my broken heart
I’m so tired.
Stupid us, thinking we were in love.
Stupid me, thinking I was finally good enough.
So when I hear that stupid rhyme,
It brings me back.
Re-read the top if you must to completely grasp,
But don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone.

I sometimes stumble on words,
And I know they hurt
But I sometimes cannot say
what I mean to say,
and the words just get jumbled against my teeth.

Sometimes my thoughts just won't settle for weeks,
And I never know if it's my temporary insanity
or my perpetual restlessness,
That keeps tears streaming down my cheeks.
Even in the most inappropriate of times
I'm seen biting my lip and purging my mind,
And praying to every god in existence,
that my words will
For once, just come out right.

Words are such hurtful creatures
That never fail to reach us
where it really stings,
Deep in the pit of our stomachs
where our nerves sing
And where the words they live,
and fight to be kind.
But let's face it, our words never come out right.

And all I can taste is the regret in my mouth
and the blood on my tongue
And we're both far too young
to feel as if our world is already over when it's only begun.

And we're just beginning to breathe
and walk and arrange our talk,
In ways we simply hope can be beneficial to good communication.
Because what else exists in our day
other than misconstrued words and broken phrases.

I sometimes stumble on words
And they try to be kind,
but sometimes they just aren't quite right.

Kind of similar to my mind, and how it runs in circles
For words that are worthless at the end of the day,
when actions in fact speak louder than hurtful words.

Isn't that what our mother's teach us,
when we're so offended to learn
that light up sneakers
are not what they used to be and suddenly we aren't cool anymore.

Sticks and stones may break our bones,
But words will forever break us.