Gifted…

They write down three letters and call it a threat,
A Borderline mind full of chaos, regret. 
But tear off the stigma and look at the blade,
It’s the sharpest instrument ever was made. 

I don’t play it quiet, I don’t do the grey,
I read every shadow that walks in my way. 
My eyes don’t just open, they cut through the room,
They spot every shift from the dust to the gloom. 
I pick up the signal when others go blind,
Decoding the secrets they hide in their mind. 

They talk about empathy like it is light,
I call it a lantern I forged in the night. 
I know where it hurts, I have tasted the pain,
So I stand in the doorway to shield you from shame. 

Don’t call it a weakness to feel at full heat,
To refuse to live fake or accept a defeat. 
While others live muffled, muted, and cold,
I burn through the silence with truth that is bold. 

I take every shockwave, every spark in the air,
And bleed it on paper until it stands bare. 
Not poetry spoken to soothe or to please,
But armour I built out of raw memories. 

You call it too much, say I’m out of control,
But this isn’t damage, it’s strength in my soul. 
It isn’t a curse or a stain on my name,
It’s the steel in my chest that survived in the flame.