chocomickey14

"I'm sorry" and "My bad" mean
the same thing- unless you're at a funeral.

I'm not the only kid who grew up this way,
surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme about sticks and stones,
as if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called.
And we got called them all,
so we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us,
that we’d be lonely forever,
that we’d never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was something they built for us in their tool shed.
So broken heart strings bled the blues as we tried to empty ourselves,
so we would feel nothing.
Don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone,
that an ingrown life is something surgeons can cut away,
that there’s no way for it to metastasize.