“Find beauty in my scars. For I’m a walking gallery of several masterpieces.”

They silenced her tongue, for they feared how sharp it might cut them.

I am suffocated by the arms, I once called home.

In my quiet is when the voices in my head get the loudest.

Within me lies an abundance of love that your ego was too blind to see.

Perfection is what I craved, from a far from perfect world.

All burdens are gifted heavy, but through you runs a abundance of strength strong enough to carry it.

My skin will continue to carry your memories, even if my mind wants to forget.

There is strength in breaking and becoming.

I refuse to be strong for them, for I’m allowing myself to embrace my weak.

Beauty now lies behind some of the deepest of scars where pain once called home.

There is magic in shattering, for the most beautiful masterpieces are made from broken glass.

They ask me what it is to be a woman, as if I have to explain what it is to be a human.

I’ve seen far too many people lose their chance, waiting for others to catch up.

Never allow for temporary thoughts take over the permanence of your heart.

Alas, we found ourselves living in a broken world with sad souls but happy masks.

Those who try to break you, come shattered themselves.