When I was 13 I wanted to die. I looked out at my perfect world And felt none of it. None of that could save me from my own brain. Anxiety and depression pulled me Into my dark depths of self-loathing. Tendrils of imperfection infiltrated my mind, Convincing me that something wasn’t right, So everything had to go. I listened to songs about suicide and giving up. I let them poison my mind, Thinking nothing would ever be better. I scolded myself when I didn’t dig my fingernails deeply enough into my skin to leave marks. I’d stand on a balcony And think how easy it’d be to end it all. I’d stop hurting. It’s a short cut through hell, right? But I didn’t. I waited, I cried, I hurt myself, I isolated myself. But I could never bring myself to end it all.
That was a year ago, But it feels a lifetime away. I can’t listen to those songs
(Meant to post this for a challenge last month. Oh well, better late than never.)
70 degrees Fahrenheit. Calm, Perfect. When the ties of winter have finally Blown away.
No constraints. Just air, And warmth, And spring.
A girl dancing in the grass, Alone. Short blond hair And ocean eyes, Generic and yet… The most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Ever felt, Ever experienced.
70 degrees Fahrenheit. The calm after a storm, The sun after a week of rain. That wonderful person after a lifetime Of not knowing. Months of cold breeze Breathing down my neck, Years of my burning words Sneaking up my spine.