I believe that perhaps true self-love comes from letting go a part of yourself that you really loved but is no longer making you grow. It may be something self-destructive. It may be a habit that you thought was keeping you safe but really was keeping you away from your true long-term goals. It may be someone who you shared love with for so long but isn’t really the right person for you, and it’s painful, but you have to let go because that person’s part in you is no longer making you grow. You can’t compromise your own growth for someone else’s. You can’t compromise your own happiness just because someone sees theirs in yours. You have to go somewhere else when the environment that you’re in isn’t beneficial for your well-being and development. You have to replant yourself in a garden that’s best suited for your soul. You have to go all the way when it comes to taking care of yourself especially when it comes to protecting your own space and energy. You have to go all the way when it comes to loving yourself, and that means self-sacrifice and doing the best that you can to become who you always wanted to be.
give it a chance to understand the rooms
no one dares to walk into.
your past still shocks your system when your guard slips,
but it can be a friend if you allow it to be.
let it sit beside you and reminisce.
let it tell you of the heartbreaks-turned-lessons.
all your ghosts want to do is soothe you.
Was it time to let go
of this false façade
all manner of bullets
could pierce my skin
all manner of bullets
Had been piercing my skin
all this time
for I had the unsealed entry wounds
to prove it
ones that continued to leak
with the mocking liquid of life
but no exit wounds, no
for the stubborn pieces of metal
were lodged deep within
refusing to part ways
with a not so foreign place
and so I remained riddled
weak and on my last knees
I did not wish for you to see
with only my reinforced wall of will
keeping my known truth at bay
whilst crumbling and crumbling away
revealing just how vulnerable I could be
revealing I was not as untouchable
as I chose to believe.
Like last week, @bptowel and I decided to write stories a prompt and this time it was with the prompt word “pigeon”.
Usually she kills everyone cause she is a sadistic bitch that likes to make me cry and I write fluff cause I’m weak and can’t handle the stress of any negative emotion
So our challenge was: she has to write a happy story, and I have to write a dark and sad story.
(Also I wasn’t feeling well yesterday so that’s why it’s only here today)
He would have been beautiful, would he have been awake. His eyes were closed. It was better this way, she couldn’t stand the thought of seeing them open. Their emptiness would only remind her that he was gone. Today, in this church, was the last time she would see her son.
It happened 10 days ago. Ten days ago, her son stopped breathing and so did she. She remembered entering the house, starting to tell the story of a dumb pigeon she saw that day. She remembered the silence she was so greeted with instead of his usual sweet response. She can still feel the panic when he didn’t answer and she called his name over and over. Her chest being heavier as she went to his room. The second of fear while opening the door. Even more fear when he wasn’t there. She remembered going everywhere in the house panicking and screaming his name. Entering the bathroom and screaming. The pills next to his unconscious body. The sound of her phone while she tried to type 911 is still crystal clear. She cried and prayed, hoping her reason to live was gone just for a moment and not forever.
A lot of people came to her. She didn’t see their faces, her eyes staring at the coffin. How did this happen?
It was all her fault, no one could convince her otherwise. She was the one that didn’t notice that her son was struggling to stay a life. When he tried to talk about it, she brushed it away like it was nothing. That nothing costed him his life.