Knife and Band-aid

I have a knife, and I have a band-aid.

My knife is a sharp and big blade being held by a handle from others love, money and effort.

My knife uses it's blade and power to get ahead of others knowing that what it is is wrong, but continuses to abuse it's authorty anyways.

My knife cuts and chops me up.  Emotionally and phyiscally.

I may have one knife that hurts me but I also have a Band-aid.

My band-aid hides me from harm, with it's protective shield of love and care.

My band-aid helps me heal and recover from my knife.

One day I asked myself  "how did I get here?"

If my knife never became as sharp and abusive as it was I could have two band-aids instead of one.

Abusing it's power once again, cutting and ripping up my band-aid.

Tearing up a band-aid that has to cover and protect two woudnds from the kinfe's harm.

Why did you do this to me and my band-aid?

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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