Make me a soldier

Cut me down and build me

Rape me and pilage me

Shock you with my dignity.

Hold me against a wall

Crush me with your logic

A viewpoint so toxic

A hand that chokes: you’re not sick.

No, you’re not sick

You’re like me

You just lack


Carry your cross above your head

They want me dead,

If I won’t get in bed

And empty all my empathy.

No more to give

A life of pain,

Without suffering

Is worth the acceptance.

Benign tumors inside my tummy

I find your sadistic sadness funny

Be careful what you take from me

It’s not the last you’ll hear from me.

Dig in — my truth’s your destiny.



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Hold on to the present. Let go of the past. Reach your hand out to the future. PUNKTUATED.blog features my original poetry, mental health advocacy, and deep thoughts. Thanks for following and reading!

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