A broken me wouldn’t like to cry, even though they say that crying is good. A
broken me thinks she is just not worth it and it doesn’t matter how she feels or
think. A broken me collected broken relationships that just made her even more
broken.
A broken me thinks she is beyond repair, that every single thing she does,
isn’t enough, it’s wrong.
Well, she is wrong. Finally I can see it like the sun just got out on the
sky, I can see everything. The mountains, the space, those that are uneven,
those that are pretty even, their beautiful shapes, even those that aren’t neat,
that aren’t in perfectly state. There’s a pretty vast space, a log run to get it
all and I good place to see all through and from perspective if I want to.
A broken me wouldn’t recognize what little things, like not caring the weight
of the world on her chest do with you. A broken me don’t know what it’s like to
smile to people without the feeling that she has to do it, so they don’t ask
things they don’t understand.
A broken me feel guilt over the way she chose to protect herself blaming
other people for things that shaped her. Over scars that if you look at the
bigger picture aren’t so ugly.
A broken me wouldn’t think about forgive herself for letting all that shit
happen, much less forgive every single person that pass her life and made it a
living hell. A broken me grow up in a Christian home but didn’t witness the
action of it. A broken me didn’t know how it feels to be loved and sometimes she
thinks she’d never love someone, not completely, not unconditionally like she
would like to do so.
A broken me got better and is getting better a little bit more every day.
Struggling still but seeing things on a different view, from a different view
and loving it.
Speaking of, I would love to sit with the thirteen year old me, and have a
really long talk with her. I know it would be the very first one in forever but
I know that if she knows things that I know today, We’d be in a better place
now.
Enough with the past, my life is changing and much more faster than I thought
it would be some day a log, long time ago. The thirteen year old me would’ve
been proud. She was really, really smart, she survived all that crap and brought
me here, though.
I was just a broken me.
