I push and I push hard, I push until I break. I push so that this world can’t break me, so that I break myself before this world gets the chance to. Ah……who am I kidding I break what’s left of me, I push what’s left of me. It’s like shattered pieces on the floor. You never really find every single piece, you just put back together the pieces that you can find and make the best of it. I live to succeed and I succeed to live. Success has become one thing that I can grasp onto while I live in my misery. While I become my misery, while I am my misery, success has been the only thing that has made the pain not hurt as much. Success has been the only thing that I can work towards, to maybe somehow undo the hurt or take away the flashbacks. But on the other hand writing has been the only thing that gives me an escape away from the hurt, and working towards success in all I do somehow distracts me from it. Writing allows me to “Be Free” in a way, if only for a moment. More times than not I am convinced writing has become all the medication that I need, well in my opinion. From what I see writing lets me be who I want to be, when I want to be it, and lets me go where I want to go. Writing allows me to say what I want to say without actually saying it. No matter how much I write I continue to be unheard. It’s as if I continue to scream but no one hears me. I continue to call out but no one can even see me. It’s like I continue to… but no person answers, no person hears me. I continue to listen but there’s only silence. No understanding, no patience, and no love.Just in the the dark, drowning in hurt and drowning in misery. I push and I push hard, It’s like shattered pieces on the floor. You never really find every single piece, you just put back together the pieces that you can find and make the best of it.
*photo not mine*