Where do I belong

Inside out.

11174900_10205119631443862_7967860243771228679_n

I stare out of windows so often, I forget I am inside. Forget that I am stuck inside when the world is outside living. How lively my surroundings that screech and scream in vibrant colors. And I find myself too afraid to notice. Afraid of the world that continues to go on, day after day. The vibrant colors that beckon me to come outside, but I am too afraid to listen. Too afraid to go.

10429242_10203937150402575_2025754790206266661_n

It was the inside that allured me. The inside that called me home. The inside that kept me like an outsider, just wanting to go home. I am on the inside but I often feel like the outsider. That I am looking inside at everyone else. The sun goes from glowing to dim, and I watch light jump from building to house, through trees and even this window. The light it glows golden sparkling within the pinks and the violets of the afternoon. It beckons me. Calls out to me, to outstretch my hands to reach out and touch the sky. But still I sit, still I stay. You can call me out but I won’t play, call me out but here I stay.

I stare out windows so often I forget I am inside, but inside I stay.

8/25/2015

Homecoming.

Do you think about me now and then. 

Home is where the heart is, but my heart’s already broken. You could always come home. Come home to the familiar sounds, from the familiar streets, where the familiar faces meet. Come home to where the roads point back to the familiar memories, familiar stories that make up who you are. You could always come home, you tell yourself. Home is where the heart is, but my heart has been shattered. Where do I go from here?

Life doesn’t stop because you’ve left and gone. Life goes on even when you’ve forgotten where you came from. People grow up after saying they never would. People change when they said they’d stay the same. But I’m still figuring out this life I see before me. Failing, falling, sinning, and watching everything that’s familiar change before me. We’re all in a changing game and memories are all that’s left of this nostalgic ship that’s sinking. But I can’t change when I am not ready too. I can’t change when I need something to hold on too.

Watching seasons change in my hometown, the colors turn from gold to brown. I could always come home. Come home to the people that grow up from their juvenile tendencies. Watch familiar faces start families and mold their kids to make up their past mistakes. We’re afraid of our pasts, so we grow up in our present. Breaking hearts in ourselves that don’t dent the armor in our future. Don’t be like me, don’t be like you, change everything you once were into something you could never be. We all need a clean slate to change into who we want to be. Leaving hometowns and starting some place better than this.

I could go from here to there and everywhere, but coming home always breaks my heart. Faces are changing faster than seasons do. People are leaving before they get driven out, because everything that was once familiar is dead and gone. There’s nothing for me now. There’s nothing in this town but coming home means starting over and changing everything now. Home is where the heart is, but I don’t know where home is now.

Where do I belong.

3/13/2009

I left my heart in San Francisco.

I left my heart in San Francisco, but you still haunt the streets. It’s hard to imagine a living person could haunt your waking day, but you do. Your ghosted memories are trapped beneath the steps, where we once held hands, and believed the city was ours. Beneath the street lights and cable cars, where you once said she meant more to you then I ever could. It was always someone else, and someone else loving you more than I ever could. I could never compete. Maybe you were right, because loving a person more than I ever could, would never be right.

75874_4908171695573_892971734_n

The city I once felt solidarity with was slowly tearing me apart. Keeping images of you, every step that I turned. I watched as the days when you left, turned to months. As my tears vanished into the misty fog, that swallows this city in the under belly of the sun. There are flowers in my hair and the drinks are endless to drink you goodbye. But you stand before me on the steps I take to rid myself of you. You walk toward me in the sounds of a haunting melody on the streets. You wait for me on the hilltops of the parks where we once said, this could never be over. I find myself retracing my steps back to find you. Its what you do, haunt the ones you could never love to love you more than she ever could. I was a fool to believe I could. Believe that I could love anyone as much anyone else could.

4996_4704957415343_536846222_n

This city traps you in believing in things that no longer exist. The ghosts of you and me roam the streets, but slowly I see us vanishing into the misty fog haze that wraps around this city. Maybe I never loved you as much as she did, but for a moment I thought I could. I wanted to love you as much as I loved this city. How the chill in the air could seep to your bones and make you feel alive. How the people could go everywhere and still return to that city by the bay. For a moment I believed that we could go our separate ways and find ourselves right back into this city. I was wrong. Sometimes you have to leave your heart in places you love the most. To rid yourself of believing in people that are now haunted ghosts in your memory.

423577_4171442037792_722281916_n

How could I leave my heart in a city so grand and yet find you still haunting the steps I walk upon. Every step I take you’ve already taken. Every bus line, every train stop, a memory of you floats back into my memory. I left my heart on the doorsteps between the city and here. I left you reciting back words that stay etched inside the walls of every sky scraper I see in my mind. This city had to show me. I had to watch you fall in love with girls that only break your heart. But here in this city is where I leave you. Here in this city is where I leave my heart.

217969_4171525119869_1929407721_n

There will always be people after you. People I will love that will love me more than I ever could. But these days I go searching the streets of the city to find what I left so long ago. Find what I fell in love with before and after you left me. Its this city that transplants your heart back to life and I can never love anything else. I left my heart in San Francisco but you no longer haunt the streets.

My love waits there in San Francisco
Above the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, San Francisco
Your golden sun will shine for me

5/5/2012

 

Goodnight, Bad Morning.

Goodnight, another bad morning. 

There was something peaceful about watching you sleep. Knowing that for once you would have nothing to say. Keeping everything inside, when in turn you would die to tell everyone. Inside where no one not even I would hear. Moments like these don’t last forever. Eventually that moment between night and day, we are bound to wake up from. At this point I didn’t care about anything. Not this time, not at this moment. Not the feelings, not the honesty about these reactions. I don’t think I ever slept for fear of waking up and knowing you’d be gone. Gone to reality. Gone to someone else. Gone to the person you were in the daylight.

For those moments when you slept, I loved you so much that my body ached. I loved you so much that it hurt my head. I knew this couldn’t last forever. Doing all these wrongs, never made a right. The morning would wake us and back to the carriages that were already turned into pumpkins. Back to the terrible reality that awaits us. Back to the doors to our souls we close so tightly behind our hearts. But when the night skies fight with the daylight thats when I loved you best. Thats when I felt everything and in turn said nothing. Maybe I was always dreaming. Waking up never felt as good as this moment. I could love you forever if I wanted to. I just don’t think I can. I don’t ever want to wake up.

Doing all these bad things, never made me feel good. Wanting you now, never changed who you were when we woke up. Even good nights have bad mornings. Even you will wake up to be as rotten as the rest. But that moment where the night fights with the daylight, is when I always loved you best. When my body ached from my head to my toes. When no matter how many times I cried out to you, you stayed right where you were. The only times I could have you is when the night would fight with the light. I know I have to wake up from this. I know I have to wake up to who you really are. We are the most terrible people in the most perfect lighting. But at this moment, this current state, even terrible people can sometimes be beautiful too.

What a beautiful state we’re in. 

3/16/2007

246.

FullSizeRender-2

If I don’t write this down, I’ll never let go of it. I’ll never find my way to say the things I’ve always wanted to say. There are places that stay stitched in your memory. Vividly that you often believe that they happened just yesterday. Memories of people, places and things and how they made you feel. Its easy to misplace these thoughts and hide them deep within ourselves. But on those days when you search to remember, you find it right where you left it. Right into the depths of your soul. On the days that I don’t feel like myself, I go searching for this place. The place that made me feel the safest, that made all the nightmares disappear. It’s amazing how your mind works when you search to remember. Because its these memories that feel like they were yesterday but reality is that it were years ago.

I find myself dreaming of that house. The house with the tiny yard in the middle of the alley. I shouldn’t be looking back, I should be always looking forward. When things get bad, I find myself running toward that house in my memory. To the gravel road and the broken fences. Back to the home that always felt so large in stature. Large in wonderment and memory. The more I think about it, the more the memories rush toward me. The light that harbors inside every corner of that house, that opened up parts of myself I often forget. I was never this negative. I was never truly this heartbroken. Once upon a time, I stretched my arms out as far as they could reach and span around in circles to dream.  I felt dreams, aspirations, and believed that everything was possible. I wasn’t afraid to dream and these days I am afraid of everything. When it hurts to move on, I think of that house. That little gray house that stands in the middle of the alley. Because no matter where I go, I look toward that house to come home. Because to me, after all these years it feels like home.

It’s taken me so long to realize this but this house doesn’t feel like home. I hold my items in a house that feels fragile to the touch. We hide ourselves in rooms in the darkest corners of this house. We hide ourselves from the world, when everything used to be so out in the open. We occupy our time with being people we never intended to be. I can’t help but feel alone, feeling we lost something the moment we moved. Maybe its just me. Maybe I am the crazy one that puts too much emotion into stationary things. But some nights, I still dream that I am back there. At that little house that always felt so large in stature. That little house that always felt so open with life. That little house that felt like home to me. I’ve moved and lived in so many places. Big to biggest cities but no where feels like home. Most nights I don’t remember where I am. Most nights I dream I am somewhere else and waking up some place else. Because the point of growing up is finding where you fit in, in the world. Finding out where is home to you and where you belong.

Nothing feels like home anymore. My body is just placed in different places but none of them feel like home. Because home was where I once felt I had a family. Where I once felt like I had everything. Where my dreams were bigger than my body. I miss that. I miss outstretching my arms to the sky and spinning around in circles. I miss the feelings that went away as soon as I got older and started to forget. Its so easy to forget where you came from. To forget what brought you to the places that you’re at right at this moment. Its not that I want to forget, it just hurts too much to remember that once I was happy. Once I cared so much and believed I could be anything. Now I just feel numb, that this place doesn’t feel like me. Even though my blood, sweat, and tears formed this house, my heart never belonged here.

Never said goodbye to the house, as I should have done years ago. I never reached out my arms to the walls and said everything I wanted to say. In dreams I go back and whisper everything I feel at the moment. I tell all my secrets in dreams and forget I have to wake up eventually. I haunt myself with memories that don’t exist anymore. Looking to the past when I should be looking toward the future. But when my heart is hurting and my mind is blank, I go searching for this place. This vacant place that doesn’t exist anymore. Its been so long since I’ve been back that being face to face with it, doesn’t hold the same emotion as it once did. But once upon a time, I felt love in this house. For the longest time this was home to me. Now I have to find where I belong.

Where do I belong.

11/9/2005

Haters gonna hate.

Negative influences tend to produce negative judgments. As much as we want to be immune to the world, influences find a way to us. It’s in everything we do. Everything that we like. Everything that we strive for ourselves. Life has a funny way of showing us who we really are when we need to see it. Showing our true colors to the world that we seldom see in ourselves. None of us is perfect. None of us have the power to change people. More importantly we can’t continue to blame other people for our mistakes. A lot of us need to own up to our imperfections and find our own way to be happy.

Hate is a strong world. But I can’t help but say it often. There’s no mistaken that I am a hater. I have hated on various people, places and things. I have projected my own anger into hate all for the sake of making myself feel better about my actions. I am not innocent in the ways that I go about my hate, I am not slick and I am not silent. Does it make me feel better? Of course not. Does it make me better than the next person? Not at all. Justifying my hate is pushing the blame on outside forces instead of putting the blame on myself. Because saying exactly how I feel doesn’t hurt anyone, it just allows my insecurities to work in over drive. I have been my own crown of thorns, so to speak. I have found way to hate so many aspects of myself and project them to people. Blaming other people for my own short comings and believing it was the cards that I was being dealt. Because Life has a way of giving me a shitty deal of cards. Giving me all the hard roads, life lessons, and watching people come and go as they please. All of my hardships, all of my misfortunes, all of my short comings, and the only thing I can do is hate everything. I could blame everything under the sun for the way I am. I could blame every last person that has hurt me. I could but at the end of the day I am the one that ends up miserable and alone. It’s when you find yourself growing up that you realize that there are things inside of you that needs to change.

When you reach that point in your life where “enough is enough”, you just have to let it happen. I am tired. I am exhausted. More importantly I am emotionally drained from keeping all this hate inside. Who cares if people have it better than I do. Why should I care if the grass is greener on the other side. Who am I to judge a person based on my own insecurities. I have no right to pick apart a person and point out their flaws. I wouldn’t want the same to happen to me, why should I be the person to do that to other people? Growing up means having to give up our childish juvenile ways. Give up the ways of believing that we are better than everyone and have a right to say exactly how we feel. Truth is nobody is better than anyone, and saying exactly how we feel often hurts people we truly care about. I have said many things out of anger and most of those things I wish I could take back. Nobody said growing up was easy and at times I can’t help but say things I know I shouldn’t. However, at this point in my life I am through hating. I can’t keep these tarnished ways inside of my heart any longer. I can’t keep blaming people for my own foolish mistakes. I have to forgive people and the actions that have hurt me in order to grow up.

Life isn’t suppose to be fair. Life isn’t suppose to be easy. Life is just suppose to be life, give or take what we put into it. Life puts us through the wringer and makes us stronger. We are the masters of our own life vessels. We are what we put into the world. If we continue to put out negativity, negativity is what we are going to receive. I am tired of hating people for my own short comings. Tired of treating people based on my own insecurities. We are all scared, we are all insecure in our ways, why should I treat anyone differently? At the end of the day I just want to be happy with my life decisions not upset about the way I reacted. I want to be able to go to my grave peacefully without an ounce of hate in my heart. People are not always going to be how I want them to be. People are going to let you down but at the end of the day you have to be able to let it go. Letting go of the past is the only way we can move on in our present, its the only way we can be happy in our future. My past can’t hurt me anymore but the longer I keep this hate the longer it marinates in my present.

Growing up isn’t easy. Everything I thought I knew before becomes life lessons I never expected. Life has a funny way of showing you errors in your ways. For me it was showing me that as much as I kept all this hate, it wasn’t making me feel better. I just hope by the time I feel like a grown up this growing up thing starts to make sense. As much as I don’t feel like a grown up, maybe this is what growing up really is. I guess in a way this is me growing up and feeling more like a grown up.

Go your own way.

I am a selfish person.

For my own selfish reasons, I believe people to be exactly how I went them to be. Because of my own imperfections, I place people upon this pedestal and expect so much from them. Since I have my own troubles, I expect people to be the opposite. In some twisted way, I want everyone to be there when I need them to be. Because it’s all about me, my needs, and what I want. We are all a little selfish sometimes, why should I be any different?

For the past couple of years, I have invested all my time in people. Watching them shape and grow up into remarkable grown ups. I have poured my heart out to these people and watched my life fall apart in the shambles. Every single one of us has imperfections, but sometimes I wish we were all perfect. None of us is equipped with ammo to save each of ourselves from ourselves. I can’t help but want to believe in these expectations I have of people. That everyone is untouchable, strong, and can do anything they set their minds to. That inside each of us lies a super hero capable of anything and everything. More importantly, I need these people to save me, help me, be there for me. Me, me, me.  Most days I believe that but sometimes our emotions and realities get the best of all of us.

We are all incapable of making any mistakes. We are all perfect beings. Because I am a crazy person, I believe that. Every word of that. Perfect beings incapable of doing any wrong because thats how bizarre bat-shit crazy I am. Perfect in every which way I want you to be. It’s weird how things in your mind tend to come out different in real life. Our day dreams are not as real as our reality, I suppose. Eventually chips start to form in their armor. The pedestals for which they have been held upon start to crumble. As much as I want to fight for perfection, all of our imperfections seem to shine through. I get angry, I curse the skies, and curse the beings I have before me. These are the people that aren’t suppose to have dents in their armor. These are the people that are suppose to remain cool and carefree and take over the world. The more I shout to the heavens the more I tend to look at myself. All the time I have spent on others and nothing to show for my own imperfect ways.

I become angry for all the wrong reasons. I begin to hate everyone. I alienate myself from so many people all the sake of everyone not being who I want them to be. All because of my own perception of perfection, believing that everyone else has to be exactly who I want them to be. I am juvenile, I am childish, and more importantly I am crazy. Who am I to judge anyone for their actions? Who am I to point out the flaws of other people, when I have spent a lifetime correcting all my flaws. Who am I to tell people what they should be doing, when I should be focusing on my own life? Growing up means letting go of all these childish ways of thinking. Letting go of this perception of perfect. Letting go of people and allowing them to find the super hero inside of themselves. Instead of searching for perfection in other people I need to start embracing the imperfections in myself. Finding the loveliness in everything instead of pointing out the flaws I can never correct.

I am not perfect and neither is anyone else. All the imperfections I embrace in myself, I have to embrace in other people. I can’t become angry for people living their lives the way they want to live it. I can’t be angry for everyone’s mistakes. I need to stop being selfish expecting people to be what I want them to be. We are all human beings making mistakes and living life. If I can embrace the flaws in myself, I need to be able to embrace the flaws in others. The world is filled with beautiful amazing people and not any one of them is perfect. I will never be perfect and neither will you.

5/15/2013

 

If there was a way to apologize for my way of thinking, I would do just that. My insecurities caused my beliefs in this level of perfection. Treat people and be angry with people for all the wrong reasons. I am sorry for hurting anyone for my past ways, sorry for expecting too much from people, sorry for believing that people could be exactly how I want them to be. 6/2/2015

Through being Cool.

You are so Cool.

At least thats what you want everyone else to believe. That everything that you snicker and make snide comments about make you superior to every species on the planet. Because its your opinion that matters over every one else’s. We all want to be better than everyone else. Degrade the masses with subliminal messages. Show everyone just what we are all made of. Made up of materialistic every day things, that will make us better than everyone else. We go out of our way to find these special things just to prove we had it first. Being cool means you have everything and know everything, because that’s what makes you special.

Of course you’re special, you’re so cool.

Its the shoes that we buy that make us who we are. Its the clothes we wear that shape our self esteem. Its the cars we drive, the homes we live in, and our lifestyles that set us apart from everyone else. Because we are the cool ones that show off our material things that makes us so cool. We are whats new and great in the world and it makes us better than everyone else.  Its our status symbols upon status symbols that prove that we have truly made it. All materialism is just stuff that makes us feel superior to everyone else. Sure you find the coolest bands, the coolest clothes, know all the coolest places, but that just makes you in the know that doesn’t make you any cooler. We are a generation of needing to be somebodies when we are really complete nobodies.

But I need the hottest shoes, the dopest bag, and to drive the sickest car. I need a lifetime of “I am so cool” to make me an ounce of fucking cool. I need to find the newest “it” bag, hear the next best thing, watch the cool as fuck video. I NEED these things because having these things makes me better than everyone else. Knowing all theses things proves I am just as fucking cool as the next person. Just as cool as everyone else. Isn’t that what we all want? To be just like everyone else? We all want these things in our cool-as-fuck world that makes us into completely different people. Because being someone else is better than what we show to the world. I wish I was cool. Cool enough to wear the coolest dopest shit you’ve ever seen. Cool enough to share with the world all my pretty shiny things. Every thing I love everyone else hates. Everything I like is different, unusual, and boring. Every thing I want for myself is kept privately for fear of being shunned by the world. Because no matter how much money I make, it’s never enough. For every dope thing thats “dope” to me, people don’t seem to care about anyway. Every thing I have is just my attempts at being cool, which makes me fail miserably. We are not school children trying to one up one another in the school yard. We are not roaming the halls of our imaginative high school. We’re grown ups, who are still growing up. We’re human beings trying to live. More importantly we are not children anymore showing off whats cool in front of the masses at show and tell. What does it matter what I like that you don’t like? What does it matter if the mainstream is more fun then the underground? What makes cool so fucking cool anyway?

You reach that point in your life when growing up is inevitable. Everything that you once held dear to your heart all finds a way to disappear. All the things you once loved starts becoming childish and juvenile. I am through being cool. Through pretending that everything that I like is suppose to be what everyone else likes. Through spending money to impress complete nobodies into believing I am a somebody. Through wishing for material things in my attempt to impress you. New shoes doesn’t change who I am because even wearing new shoes doesn’t change the numbers in my bank account. Material things don’t make me cool because the more we try being cool, makes us less than fucking cool. I don’t need a closet of beautiful things to make me special. I don’t need to drive the coolest car to make me a somebody. Because reality is we are all complete nobodies. Who are we to make people believe that having these things makes us better than everyone else? All the things we love are made by people who have nothing. Some days I wish I had nothing just so I can appreciate everything I have surrounding me.

I am done pretending because reality is I am not cool. Not even an ounce of cool, not even a smidgen of cool. I am just me. I can live with that, why can’t you?

 

Sinking like a stone in the sea.

tumblr_mszap5gIug1rm7dsvo1_500

I can’t breathe.

My body feels heavy and the more I gasp for air, the more I can’t breathe. The air fills every open space  and I still clench my chest for more. I am suffocating in this dry land, I am suffocating with thoughts closing in on every last bit of my heart. This is the end. This is how I go. The thoughts that cloud my thinking and suffocating my breathing. This is how I disappear, how the memories vanish and wash away to shore. I need a clean escape, a new beginning and everything else that follows with that.

11231141_10205275870269735_8627247278974786948_n

We all want that escape to take us away from this reality. Take us far away from whats familiar and lead us straight into the unknown. All I want is some piece of mind. Some place that helps me breathe again. Some place so deep within my soul that I can find everything I am looking for. Its not here on land, its not here in this city, its somewhere near the water with its clear blue oceanic views. Take me to the ocean with this clear blue waters. Take me to the sands as white as snow. Take me far away from this reality and help me reach the shore. Let the waters run through my body and allow the currents to wash me out to sea.

1517474_10205275869949727_7951729047642881894_n

If I sink to the bottom of the ocean, no one will find me. They’ll mourn my life but they’ll never have me. I watch every inch of my skin become consumed under water. Watch the tides come tell me their secrets as they reach the shore.  I’ll let the water fill my lungs and only then will I breathe again. It’s only in water that I feel whole again. It’s only in water that the heaviness in my heart becomes completely weightless. My body is the stone that slowly sinks down in the sea. Watching the water consume my body, I feel weightless. I am sinking but I feel weightless. As cliche as it sounds, I feel like I am finding my way back home.

Its in this water that I feel like this life wasn’t good enough for me. That I could have been anything I wanted to be, but failed miserably. I could change my life into whatever I want it to be. I can finally find my way back home. Its in these waters that I feel clean. Clean from the bullshit necessities of yesterday. Clean from the juvenile way of thinking. Clean from the belief that I haven’t done anything with my life. I clench my chest and for the first time I can breathe again. I don’t find myself gasping for air. Instead I find my beating heart, its in the moment, I feel home.

1/12/2010

Fix you.

tumblr_m9ndqgFodP1r35wsfo1_500

Days come and days go. There are people you remember and people you want to forget. You keep the memories of the past closely guarded around your heart. There are times you wish you truly could let go, let go with every broken way you possibly could. When life happens to hurt more than it should, you retreat back into your broken shell. Back to every broken memory you could possibly think of.

We are all broken battered people. People so broken with life that not even a single light could guide us home. We beg to the skies to make everything better. To give us just a better way to fall gracefully. We can’t help but feel the way we do. We want to be fixed of our broken wings and nursed back to good health. We want our shattered pieces to be pieced back together, ever so gently. Anything to cure us from our brokenness and broken ways.

6312_02a2

No matter what I do I am drawn to the broken ones. The people so broken by life that nothing seems to get through to them. Its the broken ones that need the most help. The most love out of all of us. No matter what I do, I can’t escape them. They’re drawn to me, and I can’t help but want to help them. Be there for them. Fix the broken parts and find a way to get through to them. I want to put a bandaid around all the cuts. I want to glue together all the broken shattered parts. I want to dry all the tears and make everything feel better.

But I can’t.

The more I try to fix a broken person the more it hurts. The more I try to piece back together someone, the more I find myself falling apart. I take all the broken pieces from everyone else and cut them deep inside of me. After all the broken ones are fixed they latch on to the light of someone else. All I am left is the remains of the broken hearted shattered pieces. Its when the broken ones have gone to live their lives, that I am left wondering what to do with mine. When do I get someone to save me from my broken self? When do I get a chance to patch up all the cuts and glue together all the shattered strands?

But I want to fix you. I want to guide the light to light your path to find what you’re looking for. Patch up all your broken bones and guide you home. Take every pain you feel and make it my own. Only then would you understand that I feel exactly as you do. That even the ones that stand tall, feel broken too. Every inch of my heart is broken but to take away my broken pride, I want to fix you. I want to help and cure and mend, every sense of the brokenness. But I can’t. The more I think I am helping, the more I make it worse.

Sometimes I need fixing too. Sometimes I need a light to steer me in the right direction. Need someone to pick up all my broken pieces and glue them back together. Seldom do I find a person that will help guide me through. Instead of helping all the broken ones, I should start with my own broken self. I can’t fix you, as much as I wish I could. I can’t put back together all the broken strands of pieces and make you whole again. I need to fix myself before I can think of fixing you. I need to help myself before I can help someone else who thinks they need me too. It’s only after I help myself that I can ever think of fixing you. But I could never fix you. You need to look into your broken heart and let the pieces fall back together on their own. Stop searching for people to help you from your broken shell. Because even the people that are helping you, can’t help but be broken too.

And I feel more broken then I am suppose to feel. I just wish I could find a way to fix you by fixing myself too.

2/16/2012

200_s