The Survivor

There's a heart, it's not made of stone. Somedays my skin is so thick its probably iron. It's not easy facing the world alone, It's not easy doing what's right, It's not easy chewing it up and swallowing it all. But I did. I don't feel nourished or full. I feel empty and where my heart should be there's a hole. Nobody cared about my needs, Nobody cared about the good I did, Nobody cared about how bitter that tastes. But I did. When I saw it on the expression of others. When I saw they were about to lose their own heart. What good am I, if I can't be the hero I needed, What good am I, if I can't fight the loneliness, What good am I, if I can't keep fighting after losing my own battles. But I did. I had to because even though I lost in my own life, I wasn't done fighting. Maybe I never will be.That's what they call a survivor. But I don't really feel like I survived. I feel like I'm still fighting. So maybe the battle hasn't ended yet. This battle, asks me for everything, This battle, means fighting the suffering, This battle, spares no one. But I did. They tell me it's depression but really it's the world. I'm just not strong enough to change it. But maybe if I write to it, it will change on its own, and I can stop fighting. In that world, the hungry are fed, In that world, people will forgive again, In that world... there won't be anyone like me. So maybe it is depression, but I did everything I could to chew that up and swallow it. Whenever I succeed at helping someone else it's not bitter anymore. It tastes sweet, and life has meaning again. In that way the world could never beat me, and maybe that's why my battle hasn't ended.