i’m still so much the same and so different. i was hurt at sixteen and at eighteen i’m healing. i was more lost then, more confused. i’m still a child, was more a child then. or i’m more a child now. i lost my innocence over and over again and then tried to win it back and instead of innocence i have found peace. there is no more chaos. i’ve raised my shame to the surface and have learned to confront it. i no longer believe that other people can save me as much as i can save myself. i’ve realized that my problems aren’t enough to start a revolution. i’ve started to see people as human beings instead of peripheries of my own life. i’ve started to laugh at hatred. i have found love repeatedly. i have kissed many boys, have touched their bodies and i’ve realized that i have never needed skin as much as i thought i did. i am the opposite of empty now. i am so full that sometimes it’s overwhelming. i don’t steal as much as i used to. i’m no longer afraid of finishing books. i don’t have anyone to impress by myself. i have realized it is okay to love my parents. i have realized that who i am and who i will become is my fate. i’ve learned a lot of things but i’m still naïve and ignorant and will never have all the knowledge that i want. i’ve realized that faith is not something to be ashamed of. i’ve realized that i don’t believe in religion. i have told death to leave me alone for now. i’ve stopped caring what people think about me. i’ve started to believe in myself. it’s a very strange gap — between now and sixteen. i am so much the same and was, in many ways, much better off then. i’m so different now but in many ways, i am free.
We are more than the worst thing that’s ever
happened to us. All of us need to stop apologizing
for having been to hell and come back breathing.
Your bad dreams are battle scars.
What doesn’t kill you cuts you fucking deep
but scars are just skin growing back
thicker when it heals.