Running From Myself

I am silent. Standing here trying not to fall — or break. Trying to put the broken pieces of my life back together. It had been a while since I had been really bothered by something — too long, I suppose. Enough time had passed that the just a bit of bother broke me. I am trying to stay. I am not very good at staying — I am better at looking away, and running far. I would rather be free of any pain, free of any ... me. Reflections make me sick, I try to avoid them — and simultaneously, I avoid myself. The less of myself I see, the less of myself I am forced to save — over and over again. It is always something. I am always the damsel in distress and the hero who saves myself in the knick of time. What has this life come to that I would rather lose my lungs and heart than face myself? I would! I would lose everything all over again. This face I see is hideous. Always hiding the sins of a girl who never knew better — but I learned better and I was happy in paths I had traveled. I like the dark cold nights — the ones that leave you shivering in your sleep. They make me feel less alone and more understood. I am always running. Always fighting against my own skin and bones, trying to take the torn bits and make them into a whole person again. I may never be whole, but I will never allow myself to die for sins I did not commit. I will never be able to fully save myself — the monsters always come back, the pain never stays away for good. No matter how far I run — I am stuck with myself. And if I have ever run from you, I hope you know I was not running from you — I was running from who I was, who I am becoming — Who I see when I look inside of myself. Pain doe not make beauty, and darling, struggle doe not make a savior.

-AshleyAnne