The words spoken were short and few,

But the wounds they formed cut deeper then you knew.
The residue left started to fester and rot.
And the butterflies in my stomach transformed into knots.
They say it’s alright,
I say it’s okay.
I wonder for once what I did anyway. 

To provoke such,
Words
to form into knives.
They penetrate my skin,
but I will still strive.
In the dark of the moment I’ll make art from my pain,
Even if my confidence may never be the same.
I’ll come back STRONGER.
I’ll come back BOLD. 

Willing to tell the story that needs to be told.
Yes, the cuts were deep,
But skin grows back thick.
I’ll never forget the words that clung to me.
They stick.