Bitches

being sixteen has taught me one thing,
we all overthink, and we all hate.
you come across those kinds of people who say hate is a strong word I dislike, but you know what they mean is the one thing they hate the most in the world must be on a different level, a level of abhorrence in the thought of that one thing that curls the hairs on your collar. the one that makes you holler. The one that beats you down and helps you up only to tell you that you weren’t good enough, but the one thing they can’t tell you is that no one knows how you feel. No sentence has been more of a lie than nobody knows how I feel. We all feel, every breathing thing on earth right now is feeling. Even those under anesthetic are feeling the warm embrace of the doped up dreams. They will feel up until that shrieking scream, the cry from a mother in a hospital hallway. The yell for the lost young life. That mother feels loss, that mother is a wheres waldo puzzle with an absence of waldo. A beating heart with nowhere to send it’s love could hurt a bit more than a razor. When the love turns to melancholy songs alone with some gin. This will go on until her film screen reads fin. Death by a broken heart wasn’t just a myth it was a sin.

1 month ago