I am starting to see life for what it is.
A series of mistakes, that if repeated, lead to destruction of self.
Languishing in it makes misery my home.
I could push past myself and love me ’cause I’m lovable.
I am starting to see love for what it is, not what I want it to be. All the words I hold in my tongue so I don’t offend you and the decisions I make despite your advice. And the frustration you have with my ways.
My frustration with you not being on my side.
You won’t love me to my death bed, I heard you say that.
I don’t want to be the kind of person that constantly surpresses who I am and what I want to fit into a world that couldn’t care less.
I don’t want to run away from things that haven’t happened yet.
I fell into the darkness I thought was myself and couldn’t get up.
I am loving myself. It means looking her in the eye every day and giving her pleasures she’s never had.
And that’s okay.