Trash

It’s good to be faced with reality of who and what you are. I’m a very, very broken person. I realize and feel it more and more each day. I have a lot of trash in my past and present that I’ve locked away in a closet. I pretend it doesn’t exist. I don’t want to face it. I don’t want to go through the agony of trying to sort through it and clean myself up. There’s more than decade of junk locked away. If I open the door, it might vomit everywhere.

I want to be a small child. When I crash my bike and scrape up me knee and I’m crying, I want someone to tell me it’s okay, that I’ll get better, that the wound will heal. I want someone to pick me up, wash my wound, put a band-aid on, and kiss me on the cheek to cheer me.

I don’t want to clean and bandage my own wounds. I don’t want to tell myself things will get better, that the wounds will heal. I don’t want to acknowledge the wounds I’ve given my friends. I don’t want to see their scars.

I’m not so innocent, and it’s not such a pleasant feeling.

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