1. It’s just so many people have left and I don’t hold any angry feelings towards them but I constantly feel the need to prove myself and make sure people don’t tire of me, even though they always seem to move on, and I’m sorry if I seem clingy or bothersome.
2. Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed by the colossal obstacles I face now I trick myself into believing my body and mind and soul are too inexperienced, and forget that the last 17 and a half years has been made up of experiences, mistakes, adventures. Sometimes I need someone to pull me back and let me view my body - slightly worn from all the places I’ve trodden - in it’s entirety.
3. This week my skin slept untouched despite yearning for razor blade kisses and I don’t feel any prouder.
4. You could trace entire galaxies on my skin and fashion thousands of Dot-to-Dot games on my scared flesh and I’ll still never be beautiful.
5. But everyone else is a sure footed elephant, determined and beautiful and smart and I’m only a stunted baby deer or some bullshit, constantly stumbling and regurgitating stock, juvenile metaphors.
6. He said I didn’t have to look so guilty when I reached for the fridge handle and I desperately wish that were true.
7. I wasn’t snatched from my home, born in the streets or fed an unhealthy diet of black eyes and broken bones. I wasn’t terribly bullied, ignored at home or raised by strangers. I had a healthy family, however disjointed, and clean bed sheets and smiling puppies but all I can think about is how food tastes like acid and my body is polluted and I’m no good at anything and how stagnated I seem to be and how all this coupled with my - ultimately privileged - upbringing makes me a horrible, horrible person and those slaves didn’t endure all that terror just so I could throw up dinner and open my skin.
8. All those girls are blushing after sweet kisses, sneaking out and chasing fun, flirting with adventure and compiling the memories they might share with future grandchildren. I just get to watch.
9. The nights when death dances with my mind and reminds me of our mortality, when my hysteric tears engulf any room for distraction or composure, are becoming frighteningly frequent. How is everyone laughing and leaving the house and functioning when we all know our parents, grandparents, sisters, brothers, friends won’t always be by our side? Why does everyone else look so calm and how do I get that?
10. No matter how kind or sweet your emailed words are, I’ve left you and you’re not here to wipe away my tears. I think living in the city is starting to hurt again.
Isn’t it sad when you fail so much you can finally say I’m used to it