From empty thoughts of i do’s, lake front houses, and promises that never follow through, to feeling numb, paralyzed by fantasies with who, I always seem to look right through.

Fantasies that although realistic, will never bloom because of these unforgiving cheeks that assume an alternative world that makes sense to me, not you, a crimson tide of tainted red hues.

But to be the victim is to be the survivor. of the war against myself, a war where myself always loses and there is no winner, a war where despite my intentions, I’m the cause of this inner pain.

For hating my mind, body, and soul, regardless of how whole I may seem or how gently words roll off my tongue, I am a victim and a survivor.

But not the average saint, no. I am a survivor of my own self hate, unable to ever get a date, maintain a healthy weight, or become someone great, I am a dash.

Fleeting, rushed, separation. Separating who I am from who I want to be, the latter an explanation of the former me, a girl who wants so much, only to leave life in a body bag at the scene of the crime, just like a dash, lost in the descent of time. I’m just running circles around everything in sight, because I know that if I stop I might fall into nothing, because that’s all I feel. It’s a surreal feeling, feeling nothing at all. Because then it’s just you and empty space, a place where objects and people and things no longer matter, every noun shatters with one blink.

Think about it, close your eyes, what do you see? A free world where the glass is not half empty, nor half full, but not even a glass, alas, it’s nonexistent. Existing is a funny concept when you realize it’s a tease. A tease that strips you down to your knees, and makes you question why you still want to know her more than ever before, sitting there lying naked on the cold floor of uncertainty.

Unsure of what to do or how to act, when we all know that soon, this whole world will be completely black. All that we have left are the people that bring sunflowers to our grave, so stop waiting for someone to save you and save yourself. Because we want to be remembered for the love we gave, not the love we questioned to give away.

And I pray that you choose to dwell not on what you aren’t but on what you are, a beautiful person God created to go far in this life because trust me I know, that the pain and the strife is worth it. People admire the sunflowers next to your head stone for the strength, love, and happiness you’ve shown, making you known for everything you have given away to people, even when they don’t deserve it.

Quit this self hate and enjoy fate. Because although unpredictable, the opportunities are endless. I guess what I’m trying to say is that one day when you go away to a reality only angels know, be able to look down below and appreciate how being self-less allowed you to bless others with who you are, and not be trapped in the bell jar of self-doubt, shouting for someone to hear you, but no one can. So rather than wondering what to do: stand out or be seen through, remember that it’s never too late to start something new.