the last one standing.

hate’s baby was me perhaps

they proved to me yet again

how brave I can be

yet how helplessly a coward

waiting to be hurt

and hurting myself more

its a cyclic demonstration

of a war that went cold

what shatters may not always heal

and yet often it is the loss that gives birth

to a perennial state

a place where its peaceful

no agony can touch

a womb one forms for oneself

a delicate place to crawl

one’s own place in this world

is something that has to be built

no matter how hard they come and hit

its your own strength

to BE

the last one standing…

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