Here I stand. This patch of dirt.

Dreams faded and gone. 

Grinding pains in body and soul rack my every waking hour.

What I want most is twisted and mangled to my face.

Plunged into the few pools of hope of my soul.

For me to grate my mind against day after day.

A façade of muscle and courage hides a cracked porcelain heart. 

On all sides are arms within arm's reach by which I can end my life.

My self-image, self-respect, and self-love are withered and ragged.

Life slices me every which way, for no greater design or purpose.

I bleed and I cry and I weep and I scream and I plead and I beg.

But there is no shelter from the very air that keeps this play going.

They take and they take and they take and they take and they take.

But not my will.

No, not hope, no, not love, no, not bravery, no, not might.

Will.

I will myself onwards. I will myself into the fray. I will this life.

I will one day die.

Until then, I will arise. I will take that one step, then another.

I will embrace every coming dawn as a new start.

I will stand. I will stand. I will stand.

Here. I will. Stand.