Armor plating to shield my soul.
A fragile existence thrice tortured,
Marinating in sardonic contempt,
Masked by a pretty face
And an empty smile.
Armor hides my broken bones,
I look sturdy,
But at my core,
I am glass.
Fingers bleeding while I struggle to put the pieces back together.
What is real?
Build myself up with pride I don't have,
Exude confidence that crumbled long ago,
Throw myself into everything I do
And make it look easy.
Only one person sees through my eyes of plastic.
He holds me in his arms and whispers, "It's okay now".
My armor liquifies at his touch,
At the warmth of his soul against mine.
Walls collapse inside me, never to be rebuilt.
The world sees the artifacts, but he sees the truth;
A girl who's suffered, longing for solace
That only he, and art, can provide.