You fight for all the things
that make you uncomfortable
but only
when you’re alone at night
and I wonder how much
you sob

Your heart must cry out
for every little injustice done
and your fingers must
clench so tightly

How much does it hurt,
really?
Or do you simply
hurt yourself, so at least
you have something

At lest you can tell your friends
that you’re a real person.
Some of them, why,
they might even believe it

But really your pockets are full
and if your point is proved
you’ll win whatever merit badge
there is to be awarded

and when they pin it on I
hope they slip and the blood stains
just enough to be embarrassing
and I hope the medal
wears a hole in your shirt and
and I hope the next time you clench
your fist, your fingers break.

I hope you break
every single one