well deserved
Eventually, it's all going to catch up with me. Eventually, you'll be able to see it on my face no matter how well I lie it will still etch underneath my cheekbones and below my eyes. I cant help but wear it on my sleeve when it's the only thing real to me. The only thing I can understand is things that are no longer happening. I think about it constantly, and I know it is what ruins me. The last thing I ever wanted was to become something I'm not the last thing I wanted was to force myself to pray to force myself to think a little deeper. But now I just do what is present and constant and always here, I do only what preoccupies my mind and my thoughts. I am thinking constantly of things that no longer exist. It's in my mind whenever I close my eyes, my thoughts drift back to times I wish never happened, to times I know were my fault the things that happened to me were always my fault, and I can't forgive myself. I don't care if my parents have forgiven me if my friends are over it or even if Jesus died for these things. I will never feel okay with the way I have lived I will never get over the things I have seen or the choices I've made or the words that I said and the people I said them to, or the way that I looked at everyone and the way my voice begged for them and the way my body clenched around them for them and how I would have done anything just to feel like I was a part of them just to feel like they understood to feel like I knew something others did not. But there's nothing that I can do to there's nothing I can say there's no one who make it right. I feel like these thoughts will be constant and that nothing will stop them that I will never sleep soundly that I will never have a moment where I am not reminded where something doesn't come to mind. Whether it's woods on a rainy day in Massachusetts with someone I don't know all that well, and the woods were mossy and green and the sky was hanging with steam and the branches were heavy with strings and the only thing I could see is how it would be almost impossible to escape this place, and how good the air felt heavy in my lungs and how I could taste it, and the rain was like mist and that soaked my hair and my cheeks and is this really how my life was going to be? Or the time there were fists and feet clutching ribs, and I fell to the ground, and I screamed out some words that didn't make any sense, and I grabbed for hair and for flesh and for hips, and I felt the asphalt kiss my skull and dig into my spine and my back carried scars for a long enough time. Or the way that no face saw the depths of my eyes and no voice was the way I fell asleep every night and no hair was soft to the palm of my hand and the way that my callouses formed beneath skin, and how I made no mistakes because I see it for what it is. Now I melt underneath something soft, and it's so hard to move at all, and sometimes I don't even wish that I could. I know what I'm doing cause I've done it before but not quite like this, and I know that if it ends, I won't be able to understand how everything can still be the same for everyone else and how I could have ever allowed myself to be the way that I am now. I think the truth of it all, even though I don't know what it is or have I ever known what it is, is I can feel deep and strong unlike anything else. Even if I'm at this age of twenty, where I think maybe I've had to have learned something. But I'm exactly where I was and not at all who I thought I would be. I really thought maybe one day I'd make to school and have a good job and this money and be on some beach or in some sunny city, and yet here I am in this hurricane land, and the cold only comes to make me feel warmer than I had before.