The Truth About Her
or
Bitch

Bitch.

Big bold letters across my arm
Sliced into my skin
with truth that stings
Reminding me of who I really am.

Blood as read as that
of any other human
Informs me that I am still living-
Still breathing-
Still coping-
Despite these set backs which, I fear
I will always have.

Months since I last shed a tear,
I feel so dry inside,
and yet this pain is a reality check.
But it often pushes me
further
into my own little world,
into my own little wilderness,
Where I am as lost
as I ever was.

Set free by the blood of another.
Is it true that I am saved?
Because if so,
Then how come I feel
trapped
imprisoned
locked away for being a sinner,
for being something that I can't help but be.

Forgiveness sounds too easy-
Surely God must want
something more in return than what he
asks for already?
Although, a life is a pretty big sacrifice.

A mirror is a hard thing to combat,
"It lies" is a lie in itself,
Because when I see my reflection
staring back at me with
two blue eyes
two sad eyes
two child's eyes
I want to scream,
"This isn't me!"
And run away as though I can get away
Even though I know that I never will.

Because, weak as I am,
I keep turning back,
Keep coming back,
To a life which isn't worth much.

Not to you,
Not to Him,
And truthfully?

Not to me.