I am like a ceramic bowl, and this bowl has many assets.
Beautiful from a far, but up close you see my cuts, scars and bruises put there by all the hate and doubt of the world.
The bruises have been battered into me by the ones called my loved ones.
You see all the warm bright colors painted over me.
Not the cuts that were scratched and engraved into my sides.
You behold the strong and sturdy nonbreakable me.
But you don't know the pain and struggle I suffered to be shaped the way I am today.
You don't understand how breakable and pliable I am.
How easily I can disintegrate at anytime. Everything that's weighted on my shoulder, that I endure as the days go on.
As the days go on the struggle gets harder.
It's metamorphoses harder to keep myself together to stay put together.
I'm cracking and peeling, slowly fading away