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Hurt.

They told me I had an old soul.

And one day I would grow into it.

They did not tell me that one day I would have to live outside my own body to survive the circumstance of everyday life.

I did not know I would have to cut out my own heart and sever my own coat of arms to stand on my own.

After everyone listens the the pages I preach of my book of life, they have to ask my age again.

My anguish and heartache has become a modern conversation piece around the staffroom and the Sunday Potluck.

It’s a sharp black piece of choking onyx, twisted in odd forms of negative space. Created by solidifying in the gaps of my shattered world that kept me together.
 

I don’t need it anymore, but I take it out now and then to remind myself where I am and where I’ve been.

My heart is regrowing, developing a stronger scar tissue over the old wound, but sometimes they still bleed.

I have to build up my anger some days just to power through the pain. Just know all of that is directed inward, any of the backlash wasn’t intended for you.

I’m sorry that I cannot be just 18 and beautiful. I’m sorry that you cannot understand. But I love you for trying.

Please,

Don’t give up on me.

I am just one person.

I have been hurt.

I’m not always okay.

This kind of hurt doesn’t go away,

but if you can stay,

I know I can work through the pain,

 

At least today.






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