My words are raw. I am long past using flowery poetic words to describe my feelings. Hurt is hurt. Anger is anger. Breaking is breaking. I want you to see me as I am. Broken. Breathing. Surviving.
“Why do you write sad things?” is one of the hardest questions I’ve always been asked.
How could I answer that? How could I tell you that all I have is sadness, and all I can share to the world is sadness? How could I tell you that every time I get a little glimpse of happiness, I always just save it for myself, keeping it close to my heart, memorizing every details and feelings, and not writing it down because writing it down feels a lot like giving it away, like I am letting that little happiness go. How could I tell you that I write sad things to purge it out from my system? That it is impossible to write sad things without sadness consuming you to the core to the point that all you can do is to bleed it out on the paper. How could I tell you that? That I write sad things to let it out, hoping that one day it would never come back, that maybe one day, I will finally succeed in writing all my sadness away.
I’m sorry for every person I’ve ignored,
For every person I’ve hurt,
For every person I’ve caused pain,
They say, hurt people, hurt people
Maybe that’s the reason why,
I’ve hurt every people that gets too close to me,
And maybe that’s also why,
Of all the ones that I’ve hurt,
It’s been really me who I am most sorry for.
For I’ve hurt myself more than you’ll ever know.