there's a 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 for 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 in there s᥆mᥱᥕһᥱrᥱ ˏ beneath the layers of 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞 and 𝗴𝗼𝗿𝗲 ˏ hidden amongst your ribs within the skeleton of your 𝘁𝗼𝗼—𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒑𝒔𝒆.
they say lavender softens anxiety, and i wonder whether i can plant a garden so dense in your mind that the knots in your chest unravel and never tighten again.
i can't keep lying to myself, saying i'm going to change. i'm poison. i come from poison. i have poison inside me and i destroy everything i touch. that's my legacy.
my mother doesn't hug me. she doesn't know what to do with me. my father has the kind of anger all fathers do; loud and terrible. it lingers for your whole life.
sometimes i can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives i’m not living. how do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?
i don't fantasise about having the perfect life. i think about waking up somewhere safe. i think about having a pretty kitchen & a nice armchair. books on shelves. coffee always brewing. i could be happy with something simple ﹠ quiet.