when i was five,
i would scrape my knees,
and ***** my face,
whenever i fell.

but i was never afraid to stand up,
dust of my clothes,
and begin running again.

when i was nine,
i would trip and stumble,
ruin the pale skin of my hands,
but i didn't care.

i wanted to keep running,
to feel free...
so i did.

but now, whenever i fall,
i ***** my hands with my own blood,
and my legs start shaking uncontrollably,
so i curse the ground for being so uneven.

all i can seem to do now
is just glance at my injuries,
wallow in my own self pity,
and wait.

but what exactly am i waiting for?

to those who actually have people they trust,
i salute to you.

to those who have others that care for them,
i salute to you.

is it me?
or is it them?
it doesn't matter i guess...
it all ends up in the same way,

cause it seems that i can't have either.

the people in my life
that make me think that i am less of a failure
and a disappointment to my friends and family;

the people that assure me that i don't put a burden on everyone i know...

so, *thank you.