If I didn’t try
to breakout of my bones
facing the noisy swallows of regrets
eating out of my mouth,
holding my insides,
to kill all my ugly butterflies.
Would I know
what normal is?
Even then I may have stood away.
Far far away
from where love lives and love works.
Or at least that is what I am told everyday.
That only my cracks and my seeping blood
makes me different, makes me special.
What makes me hurt myself, hate myself
I am told to embrace it back
only because it is beautiful.
So that is what I do,
I embrace it even if it kills me,
till it kills me.