I bleed when I write

You called me worthless and a coward. You told me I am overdramatic and boring because of the way I write.

But bless me or curse me, it was meant; I was meant. You wronged to question and mocked me why am I like this and why I write.

Maybe because I was born to be this way—bleeding makes me write and writing makes me bleed.

My lifetime was spent between paper cuts I got from flipping pages and indirect stabs I got from bad, bad, bad people. Cuts and stabs that became variety of wounds that slowed me and ruined even my innermost part. I bled all that time; blood and invisible blood, tears and invisible tears. I lost hope, through time I thought I will be forever stuck in the red void. However, through time as well I had practiced to survive and adapt. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

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Unknowingly those wounds have dried off to crisps by the stack of book dusts and platelet-like words I learned from surviving. The urge to scraped my dried wounds was everyone's habit, but not everyone was like me; not everyone knows how to scrape dried wounds and at the same time shred to a grown persona.

Wounds might left me scars both internally and externally, but I will never be ashamed with those. It will never be the reason for a weakness, it marked me and I learned from it. Hurt me and I will bleed, but I will use my blood to heal myself back again.

I grew up deciphering what lies beneath those words. From headaches I got from the birthing of my multi-universe inside my head to the worse than dyslexia feeling I had suffered from the words overloaded on my eyes and stuffed on my mouth. Until the most exhaustingly moment happened, I cried some words out and vomited the rest of it. (It was salty, some particles left a smell that stung, since truth to tell no words will ever be sweet from the madness and dramas I have not let out for a very long time.)

I was born to write... But I had lived half of the entirety with invalidations. And now I am ready to fight for it.

(I tried to weigh things, if you have given me simply destructive criticism or purely an insult to drag me down.) But you even called me voiceless because I am not loud. Called me stupid for how otherworldly and weird I am now.

You said you do not
understand me. So,
WHO HAVE GONE
STUPID NOW?
Who have gone blind
to read the truth?
Who have gone deaf
and mocked me voiceless
in spite of the screams
and groans I wrote?
(For all the failure
I have been through,
all the hardships
I surpassed, and
all the things I
painfully bled,
I had known myself
a little stronger,
bolder, and unique
than you judged me
by my cover.)

It will never be my fault you’ve became blind and deaf when you read me but failed to comprehend my existence.

Bless me or curse me I will still write all the way.

Renésmee Neverfound ㅤ

_{An aspirant writer and artist. To be found is my greatest dream and never be lost. Hi, I am Hive account@rene.neverfound, you can call me Rene or Esme if you like. I specialized in prose-poetry and poetry, and now I am trying new things and writing styles. I love learning! I am a 17-year-old girl living life in the Philippines. And my face-claim here is Hive account@gabi_wahl on ig. I am a total bookworm and a grade 11 student with an undying passion for writing and art. Having many dreams is a funny mess because I get confused most of time with regard to what course should I take in college. I want to be an astrologist, a doctor, a journalist, an author, a professional artist, an archaeologist, and many more I forgot to remember while writing this.
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Author's note: The photograph used was given permission by the owner Hive account@gabi_wahl on ig. The credentials will be rightfully given to her. https://www.instagram.com/p/CPvoJXMgntx/}

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