Broken Stories #1

I'm a punching bag. I'm a punching bag on whom people can punch and remove their anger. They think that I'm emotionless. That maybe I don't have feelings. Or that I am so hard that I would resist the feeling. But I'm not of that kind. Just because I hold a smile on my face doesn't mean that I'm happy. Just because you've never seen it doesn't mean that I don't cry. I get hurt, I feel pain. I can't trust people. I always get cheated. I'm just being used, and I know that. But what am I supposed to say? Hence I don't. I let things be the way they are cause I believe in giving rather than taking. I give selflessly. I love wholeheartedly. I embrace what's in front of me. I tell myself that everything happens for a reason. But is the reason always hurting myself? Why is it so that no matter what I end up in tears? Why is it so that my pillow is always stained with them? Why is my heart always broken? Why doesn't someone just come along to mend it? Why don't sometimes people just be nice? Just smile. Say a good word or two. And if they don't have anything good to say then just keep quiet. Is it that hard? Or hurting the person in front of you seems like the easiest option? But then again; I'm a punching bag. I'm hard. You can just punch me. You'll obviously feel better. And it'll obviously pain. But then again, I am numb. What will I say? You hit me again and again, And I'll simply stay quiet. But all you'll give me is scars which will be etched on my skin for the lifetime. And then you come ask me for my forgiveness but I'll be too numb to hear you out. You hit me again and I'll just shut my mouth.