Words have power--the power to uplift, the power to give

back happiness or love, to shift a mindset. But they have a dark side too.

A side that leaves bruises, black and blue, all over my body and mind.

The happiness that was mine, stolen. By simple words.

Bad words, like cuss words or put-downs overshadowed me, followed me,

they were all that I heard. All that I believed; my reprieve from a life of happiness, kindness

All that was left was darkness.

The taunting.

Haunting.

Laughing, mean voices.

Voices of hate.

Voices that left me desparate, full of malicious thoughts

and actions that seemed so delicious, like a break from all the hurt.

Oh, the bruises were sweet, the scars not at all bleak,

but a reminder that I am a loser.

A poser.

A complete and awful loner.

Nobody.

I wanted to end,

to break and to bend

and fall at their feet.

Were it not for a hand, a simple, kind hand, that brought me to my senses,

Would I not be here?

Standing here, looking in the mirror to smile at the scars,

the lonliness and the dark that are now gone.

Gone. And I'm as free as I want.

But if I could say, could write

just once, to myself

what I could not see then but I do now

is never to bow before the darkness of words

but to let your voice be heard and shout and scream and just

laugh and love and pray and rejoice.

If I had my voice then; I could say:

LIVE.