Charles Dickens once said
"I have been bent and broken, but I hope, into a better shape."

I hope he's right.

And even if he wasn't,
Maybe I can be.

I feel like running until my calves burn,
And my chest is tight because
Asthma doesn't like letting me breathe.

I feel like closing out the world,
Collapsing in a field of long grass,
Watching rain clouds roll in,
Until the storm envelops me into the night time.

I feel like screaming as loud as I can,
And punching trees until the bark falls off,
And my knuckles are stained red,
And ache when I try to move my fingers.

Because I'm scared
That I've messed up royally,
And I thought I was so much better,
But faltering in progress
Makes me feel so awful,
And I want to be better,
But I can't be, I can't do this by myself.

I desperately would rather
Waking up sore because of you than because of running away,
And I'd rather lay out watching your colors spiral around me.
I would rather scream because I love you,
And I'd rather your fingers be interlaced with mine,
Than my knuckles be scarred over again.

****, I'm scared.