Tattered but strong.

I want to leave them behind, endured and proud.

I am not afraid that you will let me go. I am more afraid of the fact that I cant sustain another pain which I hope you see and keep embracing. But now, you're letting me see those scratches I painted on myself that you’re supposed to cover with colors, beautiful, however, you like, or I’m just expecting. You keep looking on my wounds, I call them my hidden wonders, but you told me it's too shallow, too young, raw, unlike yours. I know. Please appreciate what I’ve endured, don't underestimate them. They are meant to heal someday. I don’t want to keep something that you wouldn’t be proud of me too.