How deep is hurt?

I am so mean to the people who have hurt me. 

Those blind to all that I see, those who are deaf to all I express, and those who feel like stone. 

Those arrogant people under estimate my abilities. 

They under estimate that I have been called every horrific, murder she wrote name in the book.

I have been bruised, on every length of my pale imperfect skin.

I have been pushed around, manipulated and forgotten within the snap of a finger. 

The words will always swing like a bee, the punches will always bruise for months. 

The mentality of convincing me to be somebody that I simply can never be will live on forever in my racing thoughts.

On the other side of things, nothing anyone or anything could ever speak or act on towards me will be worse than what I have already been through time and time again.

People who think I am willing to be quiet and not fight back are insane. 

I taught myself to fight. I taught myself that I matter.

Whether I matter to only myself, or to myself and family, or to only a few. I matter.

My words, spoken and silent, matter. My actions, good or evil, always matter. 

My emotions, like it or not, matter. I am enough for me.

I am stronger than anyone I know, and I fight everyday for the things I want in life.

I refuse to break myself apart, and pick up pieces of glass based on another persons happiness, feelings, or actions.

I am worth all the psychotic parts about me and I refuse to beg someone any longer to see that.

I officially am saying, f**k it. 

We are all going to die someday anyways.