The Good Stuff

At the time, I thought I was different. I thought my situation was different. I thought our love was different. I thought maybe they were projecting their pain onto something that didn’t apply to me.

Blood may connect us biologically, but it doesn’t give anyone the right to hurt me, erase me, or hold my childhood over my head forever.

You hurt me in ways I never learned to name until the bruises on my soul grew roots in my spirit.

Thoughts pace like ghosts down locked corridors, whispering how easy it might be to just stop… breathing.