If a girl breaks in the middle of a crowded room, does anyone hear her?
If the pieces of her barely beating heart shatter, can they ever be repaired?
Far too often her silence is mistaken as a weakness but if her voice is all she can control, how can you blame her for casting it aside?
How can you know my story if you’ve never learned my name?
Far too often I find myself wishing on stardust; praying that there’d be some way for me to escape the madness that seems to be our society because these burdens, they weigh down on my chest and leave me the kind of breathless that only ever exists in four a.m nightmares and terror filled days. It is hard for me to trace the path back to where I was before my innocence disintegrated. Before I was taught that the only way I’d ever survive in this world was if I were the equivalent of the people that burned these wounds into my being.