Tell them your name. Tell them you are a goddamn survivor.

There is a part of me. A part i don't know about, a part that will always want her. Something in me will always fall onto those 300 knives planted into my bones, as when they try to rejoin the broken me, they hurt, just a little more. What happens when somebody tears you? What happens when somebody just drops you out, what happens when somebody who you least expect to, breaks you into uncountable pieces? 
You. 
You happen. The strength you never knew which existed within you takes birth, from the marrow in your broken bones. The mental stability you had lost, and the suicidal instincts you held onto, they start dying, the fear to lose somebody starts dying. A little human in you starts dying, and the better, stitched, and a more beautiful version of you starts growing. The person you heard all day, as when you no longer hear them, you start hearing your self. The person who never gave a fuck about you, and murdered you, forgiveness for that blooms. Like a rose in desert. 
The greateness in you, which was limited due to them starts coming up, the best people are the people who died while there heart was still beating. The people i write about, the people who have suffered and cryed themselves to sleep, start sleeping in peace. 
When the memories no longer stab you like a two way dagger, and when the world starts to ask you, if you were made of molten iron. When they ask you how did you keep on going, when they ask you, how did you kept walking with your legs broken?

Put a hand onto there shoulder and stare deep down in those eyes, 
Tell them your name. Tell them you are a goddamn survivor.