Random writtings

It's not okay.

I want so badly to say its okay. I know it isn't, but I have no other words to speak.

"You can say it's not okay. You can say how you feel currently."

I'm not sure what I feel.

"Thats okay too."

I want to cry. I want to yell. I want to throw my glass cup until it shatters and cuts my hands open so maybe I can feel something other than the burning hell that goes on in my mind. I want to cover myself from head to toe with scars

I want to be torn apart by the limbs, because the physical pain is much easier than trying to explain everything in my mind.

Yet, a part of me wants to love. I want to love myself, and sometimes I feel good until either I or someone else destroys me until I can't even look at myself in the mirror. I want to love my voice, but at the same time, I want to rip my throat out. I want to kill myself, but at the same damn time I want to live. I want to be who I want to become in life.

Maybe the saddest part is that I hate myself so much I've memorised the amount of calories in almost every daily or average supermarket item.

Or maybe the fact that I was a 4 year old kid who felt like mom left because I wasn't good enough.

I was a 10 year old kid in a church - I didn't really believe anyways but it sounded fun, so I went. - Day 4 came around: He told me 3 things that day. He said "This will be our little secret," and he blames me, "It's not my fault you were so pretty," and I remember as he slid his hand to the small button on my wasteline, "Look. I wore your favourite colour, so you would enjoy this more." I didn't want to live to my 11th birthday and I have no fucking clue how I am still here. - And every time I see my reflection? I see the little girl who died.

What do you do when you are the hero and the vilian?

I want to mend my broken heart.

And I want to break it more.

November 29, 2023
19:46