I consume the mistakes I've made, like forbidden nectar. Alone at night with the sounds that silence makes.
I sip them slowly, it's the way it was meant for me, enjoying the way it makes me human.
The way I bleed. Can't blame a soul. No-one gave me what I didn't ask for, and I asked for it all.
My wounds are my own. I made them.
Some I created quickly, others I took my time with. Nurturing them, making sure the cut was deep.
If you could only see how these scars have set me free.
How beautifully they have taught me to cry.
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