A Mess

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I don’t know why but the words don’t seem to flow today. I write better when I’m in a moving car, does that make any sense at all?
I’ve got an exam in two days but my mind won’t cooperate, I’ve been binge watching some new TV shows, in other words I’ve been hiding from the real world. Curled up in bed, can I just order another pizza? Oh wait I’m broke.

I miss my mom, she left for a few days, the house feels empty, but I’m used to that feeling all to well. I know that when she comes back I won’t hug her, she won’t hug me, that’s just how we are. We don’t get very touchy or we don’t talk about our feelings, is that okay?
So it’s fine if I don’t tell her that I can’t breathe, most nights I’m half awake and I don’t like to sleep, that I constantly tell myself to stay away from others, that it’s not good to feel. And I hate how I crave attention and I hate to tell others that I need them, that’s why I spent most of my life watching people’s backs as they left, but I never stopped them, so is it my fault then?

Over the years I’ve learned to accept the fact the I’m a burden on everyone around me, I’m the useless one in the movies. I’m aware that I’m low on self-esteem and I’m always self-conscious, never okay with my body.

I always wanted to be a boy, I guess I still do, living in a society where women are thrown out of their homes because they gave birth to a girl, a place where women should stay in the house, she’s never asked if she has any dreams, because it’s simple women are supposed to sit still and look pretty, no matter what the price.

So I’m sorry if I look like a mess, trust me it’s worse on the inside. But I’ll tell myself that I’m alright as I learn to hide behind some concealer applying it to my skin carefully, I’m a girl and everything needs to be perfect, everything needs to look perfect.-H

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