But I’m not sorry because sometimes I feel unwanted. In fact, there really is no time I do not feel unwanted or useless or not ever enough because I never seem to be. No one wants me, and that’s not a hard thing to accept in my opinion. My voice is never loud enough, pace never fast enough, hand never quick enough. Heart never big enough. And god damn it all, I cry a little too much. I’m so damn sad on the inside and my heart breaks into pieces and I never sleep enough. I don’t think anyone knows how cold my fingertips ever are. I’m a bumbling idiot who trips over her own feet, breaks her own toes, and bruises places that probably should never have been bruised in the first place. Its like being naked, like Im fragile as butterfly wings, or even more so. The words, letter by letter, pour, searing, onto my skin, and it peels off a layer at a time. I am red and raw and stinging with something close to pain, but closer to love, pride. Each syllable scrubs my dermis clean, whittling me away to the barest bones. -Ily
Posted on: Fri, 08 Nov 2013 09:43:23 +0000
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