"I quietly but persistently punished myself, shredded off the skin until nothing was left except the scent of blood on my fingers. I worked very hard to not let the black spot grow into cancer and slosh me down. On countless occasions, your needling, needless remarks pricked my conscience, and my head bursted like a dropped watermelon. You, dear hater, would never know severely have I been sliced by your venomous words. My vigor drained by the end of the day only to hear the slow pulse of its job half done. Saddened, I would scratch my wounds too deep for the healing and then let them open. I remember the nights when my insecurities hemmed in and my sense of fear filled my mouth with hot, dry air and made my body light. I used to watch you with eyes of hate before I realized that you are nothing but a pile of uncemented bricks that would never take a form, and I pitied you. I could clearly hear your enviousness and malice thudding loudly like a horse’s hoof
Consciously read the words I write, for these are the words I fail to say.