I'm not the epitome of self love and i know this, most of the times when i write about stuff, it's so say how angry at myself i am, or something negative, all of that is real, all of that exists, and all of that is me, but today i feel something else, it's not self pity, it's sadness, not in the traditional "sad about life" or "sad about someone/something", im sad for myself, im so much, i have so much and i am so much, sometimes i re-read all these writes and i'm just in awe of myself, i speak so beautifully, i know i've said it so many times but i don't know, it's just so beautiful, it's like i don't realise that sometimes, like i don't see that i have this way to me, that makes me special and great, i wish it was enough but it isn't, maybe it will be someday, i have a question for whoever is listening though, from chapter 1 till now, do you think i'm healing?, as you read on, am i getting better?, this sounds like a "the end" moment but it really isn't, i can't let go of this right now, i need the therapy, i need the conversations.
YOU ARE READING
Until she was happy
PoetryHappiness is a privilege and i talk deep so this whole book is a possible trigger warning. Don't look at this as a way to find peace in your darkness, this doesn't offer that, look unto this as a way to hurt with someone else, and find peace in the...
