Every ounce of you has been wrapped up inside of me and I don’t want to be let it go because letting go means letting go of everything. Everything that I have tried so hard to tell myself has meant something to me, but maybe all that it has really meant is that I have allowed you to keep hurting me and that I was ok with that. That I didn’t know any better. That I thought you were good for me when all you really were was bad, like poison creeping into my body and slowly killing off the most important parts of me so I wouldn’t shine. So you could have the spotlight. But through through all of that I came out alive. Happy to just be here, while you scream and smolder trying to latch onto me again with your poisonous touch. I’m too far forward now. Out of reach. You seen me moving on and it kills you. Good.
Perhaps growing up in a small town made me this way, but I’ve always had this long-term desire to get out and see the world, like a tick or a bad-habit that consciously taps into my perspective.