My mom grabbed my shoulder firmly and rubbed it

“that’s more like it”

with a sigh of relief

her eyes flickered my body up and down
in the reflection of the mirror

“those pants did nothing for you” she added

I looked at the pants
as they laid on the chair beside the bed
those pants that once gave me
confidence but
  
they’ve  became something I despised

not because I actually hated them  

I just hated myself

no longer pushing my
presence

keeping myself for
me

i walked on the water
in the midst of a gloomy cloud

i walked only but a few steps
to my rock

my getaway and my peace

I sat there waiting for the storm surrounding
me
to pass by

it was beautiful

i often visit this place

the question we must come to ask ourselves is this


at the end of the day am i addicted to the victim role or am i actually a victim

you know what’s worse than killing yourself


failing at it

Th greatest tragedy

is that someone who has been loved
denies it

I picked up a photo from my childhood. It was of me and my sister. We were in our little jackets, smiling and giggling. We we’re definitely high off of sugar, always. I saw happiness and innocence in their faces, a type of radiance only kids carry because of their ignorance. They don’t see anything except their own little world. I wished I lived there again. Even for a day, to bask in the pride of my mother before she lost it because now she is only ever disappointed. To easily make friends minus the social anxiety. To walk confidently without wondering if I look too fat or chubby in my jeans, or if my ***** look saggy. To eat food carefree without a second thought. To play in the snow and not wonder if my hair will be ruined. To have a crush and think I actually have a chance. To dance my heart out as if I no one was watching.

These are the things I could go back to. The times people say to savor. The ignorance.