pocketdoll
When my parents are nice to me, I cry. When my parents are mean to me, I cry. When my parents ignore me, I cry.
I feel like I grew out of this house like it's a favorite old sweater-- but I keep trying to wear it, no matter how itchy and uncomfortable it is--
They slid her stiff body onto the stretcher. She did not move a muscle.... her face did not even twitch. She lay there calmly, as if she had not been removed from her bed at all. She lay there, but then I realized it wasn't really she who lay there, but her body.
I needed an outlet for my thoughts. So I bought a journal... a small little notebook that is basically my mind dump. In only three months I've told it so much; it's a part of me, I take it with me wherever I go. It hasn't replaced you... I think it's only made me more comfortable with you. I think it has allowed me to accept things more readily, to think more closely, to really get to know who I am.