Bones heal. Words last forever.
My dialect has been reduced to canned platitudes of wisdom and my body is ill from an addiction born from childhood trauma. Nothing physical, just a crippling insecurity rooted from nine years of escapism; brought on by a needless divorce, horribly tormenting relationships with my classmates, and complete idiocy on my part. Today, as I desperately try to re-invent myself, I find the legacy of my childhood constantly weighing me down. An urge to eat away my sadness. Sporadic paranoia that my friends truly don’t like me. And a mind that too often wonders what could have been, instead of what can be. Rationalism is not an escape. And I have yet to find the answers. But I refuse to concede that the seeds for my future’s failure were sown ten years ago.
I have too much to offer.
I have too much to offer.