This is for the family who once and forever called me: daughter, sister, sister in law, and aunt.
This is for the job titles I earned...or have I ever earned them, or ever will?
This is for the people who I knew and will have the privilege to pass by one day.
I would be lying if I told you that I'm skinning myself off to bring you an honest and open letter.
I can't even recall moments from my childhood. Except for the ones that I have been told over and over again until my childhood memories became a one dull period of my past.
I doubt my memory.
I broke up with my past, or have I? or will I ever have the courage to let go of that nine-year old girl who used to cut herself every week; making sure the wounds were always fresh and rosy red? or that seven-year old girl who couldn't go to sleep one night, crying to her God to never put her in hell?
Liers go to hell.
I doubt my decisions but I'd never regret them.
I can't even count how many poems I wrote, or movie ideas I had or even how many boys I had a crush on or what the hell was I thinking about after asking a boy to be my boyfriend after ten days of meeting him? or how have I started the habit of reading, or when was the first time I had friends or why have I ever went so intimate with whatsoever called friends? except for one time and after letting go of my last "friendships", I swore to the same God I cried to when I was seven, to never have friends again. That's when I started calling them roadhelpers.
Writing this makes me feel weird. Why am I mentioning this? what's the point? It's alright, no harm is done after all. Somethings got to give....or make sense later on. It's funny how much you can recall and yet feel like it has never happened to you. You've changed. You're someone else now, no cuts' scars.
I'm in a continues process of knowing myself better. This may sound like a journal, a letter, or maybe a mix of both.
I doubt.........my feelings.
I'm hesitating to go down there; the rabbit hole. All what I have mentioned above cannot fall under the category of feelings, emotions, and love. Remember reader, I promised not to be honest, or have I? then I promise not to be honest. I don't make promises, you can feel special.
I'm going to let go a bit of that part. Maybe....maybe I will mention it in some other time.
To be continued, and edited.
This is for the job titles I earned...or have I ever earned them, or ever will?
This is for the people who I knew and will have the privilege to pass by one day.
I would be lying if I told you that I'm skinning myself off to bring you an honest and open letter.
I can't even recall moments from my childhood. Except for the ones that I have been told over and over again until my childhood memories became a one dull period of my past.
I doubt my memory.
I broke up with my past, or have I? or will I ever have the courage to let go of that nine-year old girl who used to cut herself every week; making sure the wounds were always fresh and rosy red? or that seven-year old girl who couldn't go to sleep one night, crying to her God to never put her in hell?
Liers go to hell.
I doubt my decisions but I'd never regret them.
I can't even count how many poems I wrote, or movie ideas I had or even how many boys I had a crush on or what the hell was I thinking about after asking a boy to be my boyfriend after ten days of meeting him? or how have I started the habit of reading, or when was the first time I had friends or why have I ever went so intimate with whatsoever called friends? except for one time and after letting go of my last "friendships", I swore to the same God I cried to when I was seven, to never have friends again. That's when I started calling them roadhelpers.
Writing this makes me feel weird. Why am I mentioning this? what's the point? It's alright, no harm is done after all. Somethings got to give....or make sense later on. It's funny how much you can recall and yet feel like it has never happened to you. You've changed. You're someone else now, no cuts' scars.
I'm in a continues process of knowing myself better. This may sound like a journal, a letter, or maybe a mix of both.
I doubt.........my feelings.
I'm hesitating to go down there; the rabbit hole. All what I have mentioned above cannot fall under the category of feelings, emotions, and love. Remember reader, I promised not to be honest, or have I? then I promise not to be honest. I don't make promises, you can feel special.
I'm going to let go a bit of that part. Maybe....maybe I will mention it in some other time.
To be continued, and edited.
