damn the feeling

your heart is broken.
it is shattered, torn, ripped to pieces.
along the mark,
past the scar on your chest,
is the place where the memories
survive.
it is in this spot where you
make a stand,
grow beyond the partial
view of who you are,
right above the scar
where they stabbed through
the tenderness of you
and left a mark that you'll carry
through your life,
remembering the knife,
the blade formed of words
that brought the hurt,
and dropped you to your knees,
brought the silent pleas,
begging them not to take away
the innocence that remained.
but now it's gone
and you've lived too long
to form retribution
for the acts committed.
you have grown beyond the pain,
past the triumphs with an insane,
gleeful smile
that will take you miles
beyond the limits of what
you thought
you could endure.
and it is in this place
that you'll find the friends,
the lovers,
the saints
to help you carry on
and make you who you are.
just because one person can't be trusted
doesn't mean everyone can't be trusted.
you're a little smarter,
a little wiser,
a little tougher,
and you have the scars to prove it.
the next time someone comes
blazing through your door,
you'll know for sure
whether they intend to do harm,
or whether they will make your heart warm
in the cold world you left so suddenly behind.