We are a labeled people
They all stare when we walk by
All of them crowding, offering to help us
But with every encouraging word they spit from their mouths
Their judgmental eyes grow larger and my blade strokes get longer
They all offer to help, but the problem is their is nothing wrong with me
Everyone of them are cowards, hiding their shame and brokenness in the dark
But me? I paint it on my arms with silver, for everyone to see
Maybe I'm broken, but I'm broken and proud
But with every broken red drop that fell from my arm an angel lost a feather, while a demon grew a horn
I may cause the angels to die and the demons to rise, I may feel your judgmental eyes burning into my head as you sit there trying to read into my soul, I may be broken
But I am forever broken and proud