you become so good at it, exposing parts about you that people think are important.
talk about your sex life, talk about your dreams, talk about the person that broke your heart.
but you hide in these half-truths, in the cracks of your soul.
you give them these pieces of you, the pieces that look mangled and broken,
so you can protect the bigger pieces, the pieces too charred and ugly to see the light of day.
you tell them about the girl you dated in high school because you dont want them to know
about the girl that you werent supposed to love, the girl that broke your soul.
you tell them about your bad dates because you dont want them to know
about the boy that took your heart and crumpled it up like yesterdays reciept.
you tell them about how your family fell apart because you dont want them to know
about the aftermath, about how it broke something important in you, something vital.
you tell them about your sadness because you dont want them to know
about the nights you painted your skin with a knife, about the addictive taste of your own blood.
you give these people pieces of you so they never look for the entire picture.
hide away little girl, the monsters are too great for anyone to conquer.
YOU ARE READING
rage and recovery
Short Storya testament to the rocky road between rage and recovery and the thought that the two might not be so different after all
