Silence as my Weapon; Razors as my Shield

3/2/15

Lines of red stuck to my skin,
knowing my hope died
within shattered memories
and blue bruised expectations.

With silence as my weapon
and razors as my shield,
I fought off disbelief
and depression
like a soldier,
ready to open fire
at the first sign of questions.

My body was a battleground
for my emotions and the world,
with mines in my hipbones
that left craters in my soul.

Gunshots left straight lined scars
and bullet holes
shredding my self esteem.

Now, the only thing left
are imperfections
on my surface,
and beauty within.

Embracing my skin
marked the end
of my battles,
but not my war.

Silence still has a way
of slithering up between
my spine and
playing my ribs
like a xylophone.

I still have to choose my shield.