There’s no need to go any further

I am not what you label me to be,

though you feel you are employed to tell me what you think, what you feel, or how I can be a better use to society.

What you fail to realize is that I’ve already heard those words, from myself, from the all too regular passersby on the street.

But that’s not what defines me.

There’s no need to go any further, because at the end of the day,

I determine what definition I want my name to read.

It’s all too easy to say just leave,

but have you felt the iron fist of love hit you on the cheek?

Have you put in the time to heal your wounds, yet remain loyal to your commitment to the one you vowed you’d never leave?

It’s harder than you think,

especially when you stand by hoping for it to change.

It’s harder than you think.

There’s no need to go any further, as I contain more strength and fortitude in my swollen eye, than you produce in fifty-two weeks.

My shortened hair is like a beacon to you.

It’s been ten years since we last shared words, yet here you are with your keystrokes of sorrow as if you’ve been here indefinitely.

There’s no hand to hold or a warm embracing squeeze,

just the coldness of kind words shared digitally.

I am more than the diagnosis I received.

There’s no need to go any further, as every remaining hair on my head contains an accomplishment, I set out to achieve, or a memory I had once created,

or a life I helped inspire to believe.

My thickened armor is not here by choice, contrary to belief.

It’s not a product of laziness or lack of responsibility,

yet you don't hear my explanation and continue to chisel away my exterior with your daggers and blades, attempting to form what you deem a perfect human being.

My armor exists, in part, as a symbiotic response to your misguided needs;

A habitual overdose to fill the void, to cover the pain, and to ignore the hate.

My Armor Protects me.

There’s no need to go any further, as I am more than just on the surface or skin deep.

My whole body is molded with perseverance and shaped with the idea that one day

I will be happy. I am happy.

I am not a freak.

Look at you, looking at me.

It seems you are vicariously living in my shoes trying to man the helm,

when it's you who's lost at sea.

I am not a label, a bruise, an illness, or what I eat.

Despite what society deems to be proper, at the end of the day, I am Unique.

There is no difference between you and I. We just view things through a different set of eyes.

There's no need to go any further.