Note to Self

Maybe one day I will get a hold on this thing called self.

I will understand why I cry.

I will understand why I’m so angry at things that are supposed to be beautiful.

Some days I think I’m winning, but it’s only a brief thought without any substance called proof.

I don’t know.

My answers just keep digging bigger and bigger holes of unanswered pits of questions that I keep finding.

One day it will all make sense and I can throw my shovel away.

Published by Mariana Allsop

I am the rose that grew from concrete. Amongst the weeds, I survived against all odds.

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