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Jun 2018
I'm reading this book,
"Last Night I Sang To The Monster"
And it hit me. Hard.
Here were the words I couldn't find.
This kid was feeling exactly the way I do.
But that's ridiculous,
since he has a reason for it,
a story behind it.
Me? I'm just miserable
for no reason at all.
It's not rational, this unexplained pain.
I don't even know where it hurts,
just that it does.
The kid in the story, Zach,
he loved people so **** much
but he was afraid of feeling like that
because he kept getting hurt:
by the people he loved,
or the people he loved got hurt
and not all of them got a chance to heal.
He loved broken people,
and people who broke,
and he was both of those
and it was tearing him apart.
And it feels like me,
but it can't be, can it?
His childhood was ******* up,
but mine wasn't, mine was perfect.
His family was ******* up,
but mine isn't, mine's fantastic.
So why do I feel like this?
And too afraid to share it.
I tried, once.
It didn't work out so well.
And of course I can write it here,
because who on here will confront me with it?
Who on here can and make me answer for it?
I am aware my emotions, my pain, are completely irrational.
But I can't convince myself that they're not real.

h.f.m.
Hannah Marr
Written by
Hannah Marr  19/F/Canada
(19/F/Canada)   
95
     Rahama, Edmund black and JL Smith
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