Sometimes we get so used to being beat down,
We can't pick ourselves back up,
Other times we don't even bother because what's the point if we're just going to end up on the ground again anyways?
We get so used to taking care of ourselves and being there for ourselves when everyone else had their hands full with someone else,
And because of that we learned to keep our arms wrapped tight enough around our chests to keep ourselves from falling apart,
And to keep the shattered pieces of our hearts from spilling onto the concrete,
We get used to swallowing back the feeling of the tears,
When we just want to be left alone,
When we just want to be apart of the shadows again, like we always were,
And
We get used to wishing we could force them out,
just so someone would notice our pain,
And maybe someone would finally see how bad things are,
Maybe someone would lend us a hand,
Or hold our chest just for a couple minutes,
To give our sore arms a rest,
We spend a lot of time around other people
You've spent a lot of time walking on the same ground as the person sitting next to you in that fifth period class that's been there for six months now but still doesn't know your name,
And a lot of the people you've spent all this time around,
Don't always realize that at the end of the day,
We share the same sun,
We share the same air,
We all feel the same breeze,
And we all look at the same stars at 1:00 am on those mediocre summer nights.
There's
I, me, mine, my
In our world.
There's
you's
And there's me's
But
What a lot of people don't know is it's actually us.
We create everything,
We destroy everything,
We share everything.
So next time, someone asks for a hand when theirs are bruised, sore and beaten down,
Remember that this person has looked at the same exact sky you have,
And was there during that gust of wind that knocked off your hat,
So for fucks sake,
Put your hand out for them,
Don't be scared to get a bruise on your hand,
If it means you can save someone from having a broken one.
