they want you to be a hero but you’re just a boy born from dirt, one who’s destined to end up in dirt. you’re unclean and leave your fingerprints on everything you touch. you want so much but you’re afraid of touching things that shine.
you remember weeks spent spitting blood out and smearing it over pretty things. (you don’t know when you’ll stop bleeding.) you remember biting your own tongue to stop ugly words from escaping your mouth. (anger doesn’t look good on powerless people.) you remember clinging on to life with broken nails, stones wedged between them while people looked the other way. (your survival isn’t something they want to see.)
