And the scars on my hands ache so badly that the pain is so bald
Scars of holding on to what was never there in pursuit of finding something I thought to be ‘rare’
And down races my heart in fury when I look around and see what life has put me through
Try and peep,I’m sure you can see something too..
The disappointments ,the hatred ,the love …but I refuse to be called a victim of circumstances
I refuse to be called weak…
But then ,the tears on my eyes,the last note I left to my dear mama,and the bottle of whisky in my hand to drown my ‘sorrows’ – they all laugh at me in unison “the broken one” and I could almost hear those words echo in the silent darkness of my ears…but I refuse to be called broken because right through this mirror I’m staring into ;
I see someone strong,not broken
I see a fighter,not a fallen warrior
I see a breakthrough,not a trodden on failure…
I see just beyond what you all think..
Yes,many a times we’ve been hurt
Sometimes even completely left to fall a part
But I’m only broken once
Twice is a lesson…Thrice is a STRENGTH