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CW: Suicide, self-harm
Sometimes I wish I'm not so resilient — so strong in my facade that people won't know I'm broken unless I show them the cracks in plain sight
Sometimes I wish I can't pretend everything is all right—so stubborn in my will to be better that people won't know I've been bleeding unless I show them the scars
Sometimes I wish I'm not strong —that I am not the one to take my cross and bear blows and lashes just because I can still stand after— so tainted with the ideology that I cannot cry that people won't know I'm breathless unless I wheeze in front of them
Sometimes—make that most— I wish I'm not conditioned to keep my mouth shut and take all the jabs until I die of heartache —so numb with my emotions that people won't know how I feel unless I explode and show my "true colors"
No matter how people tell me that strength is a virtue and I should work to be the strongest —being strong is a curse, a death of a thousand cuts disguised as a blessing— because if I'm strong —if I'm resilient, if I'm able to pretend everything is fine when it isn't— then people won't know I've already died until I show them my ticket to hell the pieces of my shattered heart and the rotting corpse I've hidden in a markerless grave
