I try to forget about
the things that I’ve done,
and sometimes I can

but when I get home,
I see that my bad decisions
are still stained into
my bedsheets.

each moment that you survive
takes you one step closer
to the time when
things will be better.

it might still be far away.
it might not be an easy journey.

but right now,
you are reading this

which means you are awake

which means you are alive

which means that
you have survived
every single moment
up to this point.

you have survived
every heartbreak

every loss

every laugh

every smile

and

you have survived
through times where
you weren’t sure you could do it.
but you did.

and now, you are done reading.
now, you are a few minutes
and 127 words closer
to seeing better days.
better days are coming.
just keep reading.
just keep breathing.

keep breathing…
keep breathing…
keep breathing…

he said, “stop apologizing.”

it’s a bad habit of mine.
I apologize even when
I know I’m not at fault.

he said, “stop apologizing.”

I didn’t even realize I was.
it’s an automatic response that
I’ve been programmed to use.

he said, “stop apologizing.”

I tried to notice when it happened,
but it’s not an easy habit
to unlearn after years of training.

he said, “seriously, stop apologizing.”
I said “I’m sorry.”

you are not the first man
to take off my clothes,

but you are the first man
to see me naked while
my clothes are still on.

you can
pick me apart
piece by piece.

I promise you
that I can
handle the pain.

experiment on me,
sedate me,
cut me open
and study me.
I can take it.

all I ask is that
when you put me
back together again,
please leave my trauma
out on the operating table.