Words on her Wrists

I can remember every word

scratched onto her wrists,

the words of nightmares which she

utters in her sweetest dreams.

I can recall every tear

and every drop of blood

spilled onto her cheeks and hands,

with a smile hiding every ounce of pain

with a bracelet hiding every one of her scars.

I can see every single pain written in her

tired eyes as she walks down

the halls of oblivious happiness,

where she no longer says hello because her tongue has been cut

from her mouth by the very monsters

she pretended to call friends.

She, the girl talked about behind her own back,

who suffers from lonesome grief,

who contemplates the most lonely of deaths

every night before the tears

drown her very body,

still prays every night for redemption,

for peace to be granted to

every living soul.

Peace for the monsters and demons who

prey on her flesh and blood,

and peace for her brothers and sisters who

run from shadows of their own.

"We, recipients of pain, who

have marred bodies marked by

poisonous words and self-inflicted scars,

who have every ounce of sadness in our

shattering hearts, who contemplate

death by their own hand, remain standing here

to this day, bleeding and broken. We,

who struggle to hold on to our

only light in the shadow, whose tongues

have been cut from our mouth,

rejoice,

for we have a redemption forthcoming,

a redemption of our strength when we realize

for perhaps the very first time:

I have made it."

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