How many bandages should I use?

To stop the bleeding of this cut,

To stop the aching of this deep wound,

To heal.

What medicine would suffice?

To this infectious injury,

that keeps getting bigger,

and deeper.

It hurts but what else should I do but smile?

smile through the pain, the ache, the feeling of loneliness at bay.

It is easier to laugh,

laugh at how much blood I lose every passing second that I leave it alone.

It’s better to joke around about it,

than to admit the pain I’m having.

Better to accept all of it,

instead of explaining the feelings I’m having.

I dance, I sing, and get around,

but when left alone, tears start streaming from my eyes,

a broken faucet that I can’t turn off,

gushing nothing but wasted water towards the holes it could pass through.

I act brave, tell people it's fine,

I’m not hurt,

it doesn’t faze me,

I’m okay–

Deep inside I’m scared…

The stares, the judgment, too many to handle,

too many to carry,

too much to hold,

too heavy to pack.

The concern moves me,

I’m thankful, it's very heartwarming,

I am loving the feeling and,

I want more–

But I pushed it away…

I’m scared they’d see the scars,

or touch the very deep wound that 

hangs around too long, too much, too often.

Scared there’d be more salt rubbed on the dripping slit.

I’m scared I’d put down the walls,

I’ve made and maintained for too long,

or even let them enter my refuge.

I’m scared to be vulnerable.

Vulnerability is for the weak,

the battered, the hurt, the lonely,

It is for the victim.

I am no victim.

Just a meal for the monsters made by myself and the people around me…

Nonetheless, would it be too much to ask for more?

Of that sweet little nectar,

fed to me,

and made me move a little.

Would I be a slut if I long for that feeling of climax,

where the satisfaction is beyond heavens,

where the tenderness is freeing,

and comfortable?

Is it cheap of me to need that embrace,

and taste that very sweet nectar,

we all call the same,

We all call, “concern”.

Sometimes love, sometimes affection.

To be seen is what I fear,

but all the same, what I want, need, and long for.

But the monsters keep pushing me away,

the devils telling me I’m not worth it.

So how many bandages do I need to cover this wound?

How many clothes would stop the bleeding?

What medicine would make this heal faster?

One that would not leave a scar.

And if it does leave a scar,

please recommend me a concealer that would hide it,

one of my same colour,

and high class like mabelline.

Or I can dip it to hydrogen peroxide,

so it would leave and I would no longer be afraid,

that one may see it,

when they try to look.

It is still a wound.

A painful and very deep wound.

And I know it would scar,

in the long future.

It will join the collection of scars I had from other deep wounds I had.

Oh, how can one handle this many heartaches, I wonder.

I should be dead by now.

Really, it's better.

Almost eighteen years of failure,

with no real successes and nothing but disappointments.

An eighteen year professionalism,

with a bachelor degree of being inadequate.

It’s still a wound, and it hurts too much.

Afterwards, it's a scar that would still hurt and still send pain all through my system.

Rooted from the past,

fruits for the present, and meals of the future.

A deep wound.

A scar.

A feeling of hatred towards no one but oneself.