When I was younger I was blind, I wasn't exposed to kindness in school.

I was cut with knives everyday by the same girls who had my blood on their hands.

I would go home, cry, and prepare my self for more cuts when the next day of school came

I was weak, bruised, and constantly bleeding.

When I finally realized I was being bullied I fought back, but years of unspoken words and years of tears that had turned into anger all came out at once.

I looked down and realized I now had their blood on my hands.

I moved to a new school after that, and I felt kindness as soon as I stepped into the lobby

I saw real friendships and I made real friendships that didn't require having a knife held behind your back.

After feeling what it was like to have real friends I knew that I couldn't leave the other girls with cuts from me as if it didn't happen. 

I tried to heal their cuts and used as many band aids as I could. All the past cuts were now scabbs that would soon fall off and be forgotten.

My blood and theirs never did wash away from my hands even tho the cuts did. 

I'm glade it didn't.

The blood is what helped me find my voice, show me what I'm capable of, show me what real friends are, and show me that I am a strong indevidual.

I now know how to use my words, how to walk away, and when to just say sorry.

I am not flawless, no one is. 

But I am pretty damn close.


Guide that inspired this poem: 


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