It's easier to be myself in a room full of masquerades.                                      It's funny because at the age of 15 i realizes my screams couldn't even reach heaven. The bathroom mirror was whitness to my destruction. I made incisions on my arms to reflect what pity i had left for myself. I couldnt tell whether or not the tears were coming from the hurt of my life, or the pain on my arms. Telling the truth was much easier when it wasn't mine. Did i forget to love myself?... or did i forget that someone actually does? I have to be reminded that we were born to                       cary the weight of this world, and i have to be kind because these earthquakes                                   can break every piece of sanity left. I kneel down every day and offer my begging and broken epodic to this world in order to feel comfortable with myself.


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