Clareprunellpoetry

They write down three letters and call it a threat, A Borderline mind full of chaos, regret. But tear off the stigma and look at the blade, It’s the sharpest instrument ever was made. I don't play it quiet, I don't do the grey, I read every shadow that walks in my way. My eyes don’t just open, they cut through the room, They spot every shift from the dust to the gloom. I pick up the signal when others go blind, Decoding the secrets they hide in their mind. They talk about empathy like it is light, I call it a lantern I forged in the night. I know where it hurts, I have tasted the pain, So I stand in the doorway to shield you from shame. Don’t call it a weakness to feel at full heat, To refuse to live fake or accept a defeat. While others live muffled, muted, and cold, I burn through the silence with truth that is bold. I take every shockwave, every spark in the air, And bleed it on paper until it stands bare. Not poetry spoken to soothe or to please, But armour I built out of raw memories. You call it too much, say I’m out of control, But this isn’t damage, it’s strength in my soul. It isn’t a curse or a stain on my name, It’s the steel in my chest that survived in the flame.