I gather all the things
I need if my world ends.

Put them in my bag.
The air smells of discomfort.
I have to say I liked you better from afar.

You're standing too close and I can see all your flaws.

Wearing them on the outside is how you

got here from there to begin with.

Sometimes you have to hide the broken parts

the battered heart, but not really.

No one ever beat the shit out of you

when you didn't deserve it.

And you walk around with battle scars

like you earned them.

As if the world has done you wrong.

No one sees you

with fists pounding on the sky

you're too small.

And there isn't anyone that can sympathize

with your kind of broken sorrow

because you cry for nothing.