a piece of heaven lives inside of me but i don't feel heavenly

guess what!

i told myself i'd stop writing about her at the beginning of may. but every time i open a notebook or every time i pick up a fucking pen my words start to bleed right through the paper. it doesn't stop, no matter how many times i tell it to.

i wrote twenty-two reasons why i am angry. except, i am no hannah baker, so i keep it to myself. but i am angry. a fire burns inside of me brighter than it ever has. someone has struck a match, and i'm burning. sometimes it feels like i have been struck.

so i'm here to alleviate some of my pain.

     i. guess what! saying that you don't know what you did doesn't make you innocent; it makes you naive. and just for the record, for the bystanders listening, i never said i was innocent, but i tried. i tried until i noticed i was the only one trying. i was creating callouses on my hands and my knuckles were bleeding, but you were turning callous all on your own.

     ii. we've all got this problem where no one wants to say things out loud. all of us. not just me and you. if we were telepathic, things would be easier. this was the first time i said something out loud. something that had been gnawing at my insides. i resented you long before i snapped.

     iii. it's because of you that the word sorry doesn't mean a damn thing to me. maybe if someone forgets to close my bedroom door behind them, or if they leave the windows open while the air conditioning is on, i'll believe them when they say sorry. but when another person comes along who drains me of absolutely all of my energy after being told not to, i will not forgive their "sorry" .

maybe that seems harsh. 

but maybe my anger makes my soft exterior tougher.