His words were going to haunt me whether he lived to be a thousand or not. They cut like no knife can because I knew that he was right. And all the years before I was hiding. Keeping what he saw and others who should’ve known me better than he did all to myself. He put the first crack in the wall. I cry because he won’t get to see what he started.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
Comments
Post a Comment