Does being strong require that I come crumbling under pressure with the guise of bravery to cover the bleeding that the pavements scrapped within my being?

Does being strong require me to be undaunted, brave to pain, and be iron-minded that no thoughts of rest shall pass upon the cage I built, made up of screams that I swallow in times of despair?

Why does being strong require me to hurt, and hurt with no one understanding that I too am just an ordinary person, that although I'd take a bullet, it does not mean I am heroic, sometimes I wished the bullet would avoid my flesh that is so brittle by the times.

Does strong really have to be sacrificial on my part? Just because I can be mean to maintain order that I'd have to be punished, when to prevent chaos I chose to keep it a circus in my head, that keeps me up all night.

saying it makes my skin tingle
the back of my throat burns
bile comes shooting from the pit
of my stomach, till my mouth is bitter

I hate every inch of this body
and this mind that's too ticklish
it could pop, like a bubble
but stronger than a rock

all this haughty facade
is easily brittle, the blisters
seeping through my soul
and I bleed, an immortal

I work in progress-
but I am marked red,
unwanted by the gods
and rejected by the devil

I am tired of giving
and lending, comforting
to never try

just sick of breaking
and betting, gambling
but not to cry

if only I could sleep
and dream, resting
without this drug

to receive is wishing
and pleading, exhausting
all my might

if this is living
then it is not worth it
I'd rather lie

my words are incoherent
verbose, assaulting
may it survive

I have always dreamt of running
to a place far from here
my name would not ring a bell
and my manners are not shunned or shamed

Maybe with air that freely flows
to the crevice of my opened windows
no curtains of clothes hanging
or the foul smell of smoke

Is it too much to wonder
if I succeeded years ago
If my bravery did not falter
would I be freed, or, be caged?

I just wonder if it'd bring peace
or anger and rage
these days I am just a baggage
all my words are always kept.

It's that moment
when the pieces
of the puzzle
all combine.

And you see a
glorious picture
that you doubted
that you'd find.

And then after
when the pieces
are inspected
each with care.

You see purpose
and see meaning
each too valuable
to spare.