I planted a bed of roses because I remembered one time you said that they were your favourite. And now when I crack my knuckles,
I remember all of the times I begged you not to.
And no matter how many times you squeeze my hand too tight, I still come running back to you because I am just an innocent kid at heart.
I've always been so blinded by what could be, that I don't ever see the harsh reality staring me down. My past is like a field of wildflowers, endless and overgrown, yet still miraculously beautiful after heavy downpours.
My life is a thing that was purely built upon pain, and yet I make it work somehow. I have to cause even if I don't I will be called a failure. Which I desperately don't want to be called.
And my future is this rigid bed I've made for myself because I could never let it all go.
Because I see myself in all of the people who have hurt me. I see myself in my father's eyes even though we have never agreed on anything.
I don't know who I am if I'm not constantly fighting to be heard. I scream to the world that I won't miss you, but we all know that isn't true. And I spend so many hours stuck, thinking, writing poetry, I forget to live sometimes.
I forget that the life I try to hide from is the only one I have. And with all of this constant questioning, I wonder If I will ever really be enough for myself.
I wonder If I will ever truly learn to let go of my past, and If I did,
who would I become?
Who would I be if I was not this frightened kid, burdened with more than they can handle? Who would I be If I wasn't always running from something? Who Would I be If I let the sunshine on my face without thinking of all the times that it didn't? Do I even know myself underneath all of the trauma?
Would I still recognize myself If I didn't act like a martyr all the time? Because I grew up seeing a ghost in the mirror, and now these days, I don't quite know who I am. Am I a lover, or a fighter? Am I the warrior I grew up to be, or am I the scared kid who had no choice but to be brave?