Paperweight

You never loved me; you loved the sickness in me.

most of us needed a little something extra to be okay.

But wouldn’t you rather be real and flawed, then some synthetic perfect girl who never really lived?”

All of me stitched together and straining at the seams.

My body is both weapon and wound, predator and prey. I will self-destruct without any help.

‘The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off’

I carry it all, and it’s heavy enough that I’m tired and need to rest. Just heavy enough that I know: I am here. I am alive.

Acceptance doesn’t mean you like something, doesn’t mean you’re comfortable with it. But it does mean that you acknowledge it for what it is.”

“Different like I thought I’d be dead, for one.”

Grief is like that. Cold and fast and insanely unpredictable.