As I walk alone to my car and the raindrops kiss me I wonder where they've been. Was the drop that just hit my shoulder the same drop that visited a soldier in afghanistan on a rare rainy day? was the bead running down my cheek an accomplice in the baptism of a believer? are the molecules beneath my feet the same ones that saved someone who was once inches from death?
somedays I find myself wanting to be another girl. maybe its because if I had flowing blonde hair or softer lips or maybe if I was just a liiiiiitle taller you'd like me as much as you like her. But I remember there is only one me. Only one short, tiny girl with brown hair and grey eyes thinking these exact thoughts. There is only one me, who is on a journey to learn how to love myself. So I hope. If a girl ever sees me, and wishes to be me, that she remembers how unique she is. That there is only one of her. And she is beautiful the way she is. I hope, I can tell her that no matter what, she is number one. I hope she realizes that If someone doesn't crave her, it's not because she isn't enough. It's because they were never meant for her. It's because they cannot love her the way she deserves. It's because they cannot see how unique and brilliant she is.
They say your cells are completely replaced after 7 years. Skin cells live a few days. Blood cells can live up to a year. Some cells are constantly dying and being replaced. But the cells in your mind will not die until you do. So in 7 years, maybe your touch has been erased from my skin, your chemicals leached from my hair, and your taste will have been stripped from my tongue. But in 7 years, the marks you left in my mind will still be ever so present.
I opened up to you when I told you what happened to me all those years ago, I could see the heartbreak in you eyes. I could feel your soul hurt for me while you struggled to find the words so you could apologize for another mans crime. But I am not my past, and I am not what happened to me. I am not glass, and I am not a delicate flower. I'm a person, and people can heal.
my grandma was addicted to cigarettes and pain killers my grandpa was addicted to alcohol, my mother was addicted to being praised, my father was addicted to pride, my family was addicted to addiction.
I swore I would never depend on something so violently as they do.