No, I know. Pause. No substance to that. It's no secret. I have scars from others, and scars from myself decorating my body like a graffiti-ed bridge. So while it's not entirely my own doing, I've contributed to the mapwork maze of emotional tumult. It's not something I'm proud of. I chalk it up to a lack of an outlet for a girl with a fragmented thought process. We all have our days, don't we?
All the time I look at my body and hate what I see.
I try to forgive myself for my past, and yet I find myself holding myself accountable for it everyday. I don't like to place blame but it sits, squarely on my shoulders, gnawing at my brain and beating me to let it in. This is where I pretend to be strong, but unfortunately I lack the motivation to do so. I question why all the time, at that. At some point, does a person finally realize its better to give up on themselves than to continue to fight for their own being? If one gives up, what happens? Do they live droll and zombified, or are they more schooled in 'the way things really are'? I wonder how close I am to finding out.
adieu.
"and then something invisible snapped
inside her,
and that which had come together
commenced to
f a l l a p a r t "
