When I look down at my scar-covered wrists,
at my hidden bruises and long-healed wounds,
I feel nothing but pride and growing faith.
When one is holding the knife, the blade,
the sharp-tipped pen,
The easiest thing is to press a bit harder, deeper
To stab instead of wound, to hit hard,
to bleed and to break.
It’s the same feeling as standing atop a staircase,
or looking down a balcony
Injured and in pain, cane in hand.
You can hurl yourself over the balustrade
Or you can take each excruciating step down.
People define success very differently, indeed.
But when I wake up every morning
And my first words are,
“No, not today. Not yet.”
I feel like the most successful person in the world.
20 October 2014
Edited: 19 July 2015