the walls of your skull
can hold more than this.
we are in stilts on a tightrope
carrying an ostrich egg in a spoon
and not letting anything break.
we hold fragments of other hearts
try not to drop them
try not to drop our own
try not to fucking breathe-
it has nothing to do with beauty
except what it leaves behind.
and scarring isn't something
that was ever meant to heal
it's the healed part
and few seem to understand that.
don't look at yourself and see hurt
you are the sunset
and it's red some nights
and some nights it is purple,
the flavor of rebirth.
we've had enough pain
and now it's time
to look at ourselves and see beauty.
this is based off of a poem i wrote when i was twelve. i have improved it. it is still titled Fragile Butterfly Hearts.