The more words I put down in writing,
the lighter I feel.
It's as if I am shedding old skin.
Skin that has been scarred beyond repair
and plagued with disease,
they have proven impossible to heal.
I have walked around with this burden
wrapped around me like an armor -
a hidden weapon waiting to be unleashed.
I took pride in dragging my past
as if it is the only way
that can give me substance,
give my life any meaning -
a badge of honor that can somehow
make me unique than everybody else,
a magical talisman
that can help me ward of
any unfortunate event
and stay protected
from the perils of my unknowns.
Over the years though,
I have learned that it does not work that way.
It even became
my personal magnet of despair and misfortune.
the lighter I feel.
It's as if I am shedding old skin.
Skin that has been scarred beyond repair
and plagued with disease,
they have proven impossible to heal.
I have walked around with this burden
wrapped around me like an armor -
a hidden weapon waiting to be unleashed.
I took pride in dragging my past
as if it is the only way
that can give me substance,
give my life any meaning -
a badge of honor that can somehow
make me unique than everybody else,
a magical talisman
that can help me ward of
any unfortunate event
and stay protected
from the perils of my unknowns.
Over the years though,
I have learned that it does not work that way.
It even became
my personal magnet of despair and misfortune.
And so, here I am, trying my best
to put all my scars on paper with ink,
hoping that someday soon
I will be able to soar
and reach my destination
unburdened and finally free.
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