This is your life, and when somebody tries to tell you how you should live it, ask them why. When somebody tells you that smoking is unattractive, ask them why. When somebody tells you that girls shouldn’t flunk school and should leave drinking to the boys, take another shot and ask them why. When somebody tells you that boys shouldn’t spend so much time getting ready in the morning and should leave looking nice to the girls, take a longer shower and add more gel to your hair and ask them why. Question everything. Don’t let anything slip by. This world is full of copy and paste models and everybody is the same as the next person. Do not conform. Be the rebel, the freak, the fighter. Be the one who has the crazy hair and the crazy style. Be a size fourteen and love yourself. Be the one with all the bruises and scars and stories and find a reason to smile and live. Smoke weed, drink and get whatever grades. Love your significant other even if they are the same gender as you. Look the world in the eye and say Fuck you, because I am me. Just because society created some mold doesn’t mean you have to waste your time changing yourself so you can fill it and be who and what they want you (and what you don’t want) to be.
I hope your last breath is spent begging me for forgiveness, collapsed at my feet with bloody knees. Eyes pleading for another chance and your hands reaching out to me, saying, “Please. Please. Please.” Walking away as you choke on your own pathetic tears. Keep on screaming and crying baby, there’s nobody around to hear.
I feel as though I am a burden to every person I talk to and surround myself with. As though I just add to their problems and issues they’re already facing, unnecessary weight upon their shoulders. I don’t want things to get too heavy for them. I don’t want to be the person that makes them fall, and realise just how cruel the world truly is.
Putting a bullet through my head would be a lot easier than living life pretending I’m not already dead.
They told you this road was going to be a long and hard one. That you would eventually stumble across trees with branches that reached out towards any passerby, beckoning them to come forward and test the strength with a rope and their own weight. Roots that would trip you, just to watch you bleed. They told you that you’d remember what it’s like to have to get back up on your feet and they warned you that sometimes, you wouldn’t have the will to do so. You wouldn’t have that motivation, that inspiration to keep breathing. So you’d crawl as far as your skinned knees would take you, ripping open the scars from years of bowing down and taking it all. Leaning against those trees that taunted you, dared you to do what you were too coward to do before. Eyes set on the fork in the road ahead of you, leading on to those better days ahead. They told you that things would get greater in time, and you had to get through the bad before you could see the good. That this road did have an end, you just had to find it.
But they never told you that you had to go down this path alone.
I hated myself for 2,372 days give or take leap year
and I never learned if a leap was add a day or take one away
because all I ever did was take one step and fall.
But more or less 2,372 days of self-loathing and distaste
when I would look in the mirror at myself staring back at the
person I once swore I would never be,
the person I swore I would never become,
the person I grew up to be ashamed of.
2,372 days of not knowing if I would have the strength
to wake up and just deal with the next day
but always knowing that I was too weak
to find out the answer for myself.
Counting the sheep when I couldn’t sleep for the fifth night in a row,
2,370 as the sun rose so that made it what, 2,372 or 2,371?
When days turn to months you begin to lose track of what number
you’re on, except 2,372 always stuck on my mind all because I
met someone who wouldn’t let it turn to 2,373.
Instead, it went back to Day 1.
Day 1 of feeling like I actually mattered to someone
and if this is what I’ve been missing those 2,372 days,
then I’ll rip up the calendar every second of the week.
Because when you meet someone who makes you feel like
you can get through it and for gods sake, makes you happy,
then you come to realize that 2,372 days is actually six and a half years.
Six and a half years of feeling like shit and dealing with people
and just trying trying trying
trying always just fucking
to get to the next day seems like so very little compared to
Day 1, when you meet someone who made it all worth it.
God damned if six and a half years doesn’t sound as bad as
2,372. 2,372 days of hating myself, six and a half YEARS of
For six and a half years I never knew what the hell a leap was
because I thought I’d just fall if I tried.
A single day taught me that a leap is about the possibility of falling
and maybe landing on solid ground. But to me, it’s about being cut
just short of the landing, hanging onto the edge for dear life
and pulling yourself right back up.
The sleepless nights start to kick in, where your body can’t get comfortable in any position and your thoughts refuse to cease. And the weight of the world sits on your chest, muffles your heartbeat and makes it hard for you to breathe. It grows heavier and heavier and your thoughts run rapid, and it all becomes too much. You drift off, angry at yourself and sad. And then your dreams strike you when you’re most vulnerable, reminding you of the things you’ve done and the words you’ve said. But even more, drilling into your brain what you never dared to do and what you regret never saying.
The pen feels foreign between my fingers yet for some reason, I am reminded of home.
I will never be an easy person to love and for that, I am sorry.
Anonymous asked: come back i need to read more of your work
I have a lot going on right now that I’m trying to attend to, but I’ll be back in about four weeks I’d say. c: