Poem #87

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I've always been jealous of people who can just let things go. People who are able to leave the past in the past. People who can forget. I don't know how. Everything that has ever happened to me is my sky. Every word spat at me is carved into my skin. Every memory plays on repeat every night. The moon is the only one who knows all my deepest darkest secrets. The sun can only shine on all my trauma. Sorry I can not move past anything. I will die still thinking of something that happened in my childhood. I will die thinking of the ways people have wronged me. I blame my anger only ever on my father and my inability to leave on my mother. Someone has to take the fall. I'll never move past so that way I have an excuse to still be miserable. To have yet become who I would like to become.

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