I'm no longer a danger to myself or others, but I still feel the anger, like dust in my lungs. I can never quite get rid of no matter of how hard I try to cough it up.
And I swore I was getting better, but I think I've only learned how to befriend my sadness. I think I've grown used to how cold this life gets, and now when someone gets close, the warmth only feels foreign to my chest.
And I swear I'm always trying to be a better person, but I'm too hung up on the person I've been. and I'd be lying if I said there weren't days I've given up. Days when it felt better to pretend like none of this matters at all. And I know that it does, but it's easier to pretend that it doesn't. It's easier to pretend i'm not human and it's easier to act like I'm immune to
the way life folds because I am a candle in the wind, and I just can't handle any of this anymore.
I'm fragile and I stay alive for very specific reasons. I think if you told me there was a purpose for my existence, I'd question that too because god is it easier to be in denial when the world you're growing up in is eating you alive and God isn't it easier to do anything else? Rather than keep pretending I still care about those people who left me to die time and time again?
Isn't it smarter to leave this toxicity behind?
Isn't that what they say? out of sight, out of mind? or was I meant to swallow my childhood forever? was I always meant to be this lonely? this sad? this depressed? Why do always I have to be the one who is not allowed to express real emotion, because if this is a test, I think the universe got me wrong assuming I was the type to never surrender when things got hard.
