Here I stand, on the land where you wish me to dig my own grave with few seeds in my clenched fists hiding them from your glance
Watching you write on my gravestone a name you gave me, ‘Frailty’, though still, you feel the need to threaten me with holy water and amulets, you devise my destruction and expect me to applaud your cleverness But your sight, frail and limited, fails to foresee, that with me I shall take these seeds inside the soil.
They say we should stand for something so I’m standing for this, A voice for the broken, to ensure we’re not dismissed, An example of the fact that you should not discriminate, We don’t dislike ourselves, it’s just the illness
I stand here alone. Afraid. Why did you ever lie to me? Dragging me further and further down with this temporary love, You had me paralysed, mesmerised with your very essence. Why couldn’t I break free..? Weak, so weak I