If I were hit with a baseball bat,
I’d probably have a pretty black and blue mark,
That would look like someone had tried to color the galaxy on me.
The black sky would fade to blue,
And eventually into the yellow sun,
And people would think that’s pretty cool.
But… what if that baseball bat hit my heart?
It wouldn’t change colors like my skin…
It would break… into a million tiny pieces.
And what am I supposed to do with a broken heart?
No one thinks that’s cool.
And no one understands.
Because the only person that would understand your broken heart,
Is the person who broke it,
Even after they swore they wouldn’t.
And maybe that’s why everything hurts a little more than it should.
And your brain gets confused,
You feel trapped,
Like a newly sharpened crayon in a box,
Waiting to be used.
And all you can ask yourself is,
Why am I still here?
But you never meant to try and end your life…
Just your pain.
But the pain you feel can never be fixed.
Because it’s not physical…
So they can’t see it...
And if I could,
I’d have physical scars,
So people could see the pain,
Because if my scars were physical,
I would just need a few bandaids.
But no… it doesn’t work that way.
And one day,
I was pushed too hard,
Being told to get over it.
But how I am supposed to just get over it?
So I snapped.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
My heart was broken,
My brain confused...
And then I remembered my niece...
When she was about two years old,
Coloring pictures with her crayons.
And she’d push too hard,
The crayon would break.
Auntie Jaci… it’s broken, she’d say,
And I’d tape it back together... I’d fix it.
Day after day,
I’d tape them back together.
Now you see…
Having a broken heart taught me,
That I loved the wrong person for too long,
That I didn’t let go when I should have.
And having a confused and suicidal brain taught me,
That I let my thoughts take over me,
And I put myself down thinking,
I’m not good enough.
But I am good enough…
And day after day,
I tape myself back together…
And I tape…
And I tape…
And I continue taping,
Knowing that my mental scars can never be fixed.
But last time I checked…
Broken crayons still color.