I’ve been told to keep my filth to myself.

To stay away and keep you clean and safe from the chaotic world I belonged to; told me not to drag you into this mess, because if I do, I’d surely foul you up.

I know, my life has always been in shambles.

It has never been easy, taking in too much load when I couldn’t bear it, holding in everything although I might as well explode, dealing with trash from day to day.

I get it.

To them, I’ll never be good enough for you. There will always be someone that’s much brighter, much stronger, much put-together than I am. There will always be someone more useful, more appropriate, more organized, more built, more fitting than I will ever be.

But I know you more than they do.

I know that you’re tired from everyone leaning on you for support, know that you’re deaf from all the screams you’ve heard, know that you’re sore from all the punches you’ve scored, know that you’re scared from all the nightmares you’ve shared.

I know.

Your cheeks have been stained with tears, your head has been through nightmares constantly replaying, your sides have been pushed to the extremes from all the tossing and turning late at night. When you think no one knows, when you think no one sees;

Believe me, I know.

And even though you leave me breathless, senseless; leave me even more flustered, all my insides cluttered than ever before, I do know that with you there is comfort, ease, and peace.

With me, there are leftovers; all old and forgotten wreckages that will never work. There are cobwebs in which I can’t untangle myself from. There are pieces that I will never put back together. There are parts of me that I’ll never get to use.

I’ve got two coins and a button inside my pocket – useless to everyone except me. They’re my prized possessions, yet I’m certain I’ll lose them too someday.

And I say to myself, maybe someday…

Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow. But when you’re all used up, tired from all the weight on your shoulders, weakened by all the punches and screams at night, weary from all the kicking and shoving, all the throwing and pulling, please know that I’d still be here.

And when they decide to throw you out, think of you as worthless and useless; when they see you as wrinkled and ugly, I'd still think you're beautiful in every single angle. Every stain you’d have would be another story I’d fondly listen to. Every crease in your skin would be the prettiest pleats I would have ever seen.

When that day comes, I’d gladly pick you up, dust you off, and be with you.

And by then, I’d still be the luckiest one alive.