You’re right about me tearing myself apart
I tear myself apart. I do it a lot.
Like the tissues that I pull apart in my hand while I cry in unison with my mother in her arms because neither of us can take the fact that I can’t keep myself together.
Like the skin on my hands and knees when I’m out with my friends acting like fools in the street.
What do you expect—we’re still just kids.
It’s what kids do.
Whether it’s hearts, society, or the walls we’ve built around ourselves, we
tear things apart.