I can brush off most insults thrown at me.
Like they're nothing, as light as a feather.
But not yours, yours are the opposite.
Your insults aren't feathers at all, even the smallest ones.
They're like razor sharp blades cutting open every wound I've ever had.
It makes my throat burn, and I'm not sure if I want to vomit or cry.
But you never were good at seeing pain mom...
Not even your own.