Tuesday, May 31

Growing up.

I guess this is growing up. Tear strained pillows every night, staring naked at yourself in the mirror, waiting for a text that will never come. Wishing for impossible things, like narrower thighs or prettier hair. Trying to get your tongue pierced, wanting to get a tattoo. It's a viscous cycle of being too scared to help someone else, and feeling abandoned by everyone when they are the same. Growing up is feeling self-conscious enough about yourself to break down crying in your room late at night, or even in a school bathroom. And the horrible panicking comes when you realize you forgot your phone at home. When your parents are screaming at you about your grades, and screaming at you because you came home drunk, and screaming at you because they hate your friends, and screaming at you because you are a big mess, and you just can't do anything right. I don't think I will ever know if its just me that is passing time like this, so painfully, or if I am just crying over something that everyone else can be brave about.

When you get to know someone, all their physical characteristics start to disappear. You begin to dwell on their energy, recognize the scent of their skin. You see only the essence of the person, not the shell. That's why you can't fall in love  with beauty or looks. You can lust after it, be infatuated by it, want to own it. You can love it with your eyes and your body, but not your heart. That's why growing up is when you connect with a person, and any physical  imperfections disappear, it become irrelevant.

Razors pain you.
Rivers are damp.
Acids stain you.
Drugs cause cramps.
Guns aren't lawful.
Nooses give.
Gas smells awful.
You might as well live.

Love, Angel

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