Who I am

Do you hate me for how weak I am;

For the mere words I bleed from my heart

When you hit me with the sharpest arrows

Of question,

Of judgement,

Of insult,

Of pain,

Of...nothing but something that Hurts?

Something that makes me hate myself

That makes me tear my dear self apart?

Do you hate me because you think I'm ugly;

For the bruises that I long to hide

For the tears that stain my dry cheeks every night

For those lifeless eyes that dread to see nothing but how you try

To hit me,

Break me,

Cut me,

Tire me,

Just...because you think it's "cool" to watch me Suffer.

It's "cool" to watch me try but fail to stand up on my feet with the heavy burden of the words you gifted me?

Oh but bless your dear soul;

For you know not my darkest side,

Neither do you know about the secrets that I, under the veil of the painful tears hide,

About the stories my scars, beyond the scratches apprise,

About the heavenly tunes my heart sings to those who beneath the blood, my beauty find.

I take pity on you;

For your poor little heart believes that beauty lies in one's Face.

Monstrosity in one's Scars.

Weakness in one's Words.

Ugliness in one's Tears.

But let me tell you, my friend,

I am Beautiful.

My face holds the beauty of the dark winter, the light of the bright summer, the colours of the colourful spring and the thunders of the rough monsoon.

My scars are the love letters the nature sends me, the signs of reassurance it gifts me, of how it is is with me in my highs and my lows.

My words cast the most enchanting spells, spells of love, care and peace.

My tears tell resplendent stories of my journey; my agony, my delight, of the people who helped me spread my long forgotten wings, take my much awaited plight.

I am the daughter of the cosmos; the daughter of the wild; They find my flaws alluring, and they show me how they Shine.