I always love writing, it gave something, but I stopped because nothing had sense anymore. I've been quiet, I've lived in constant fear of my head, constant fear of my anger, fear to finally accept what happened to me. I lived with a monster, a monster that gave me life, that I call mother. Always afraid to come home I was out, getting wasted, getting high because it was the only way to deal with myself. The only way others could really see me, numbed by alcohol and drugs.
Now, now I'm 23 and i breath and wonder everyday why I should accept what I lived, I want to be angry, to scream and cry but I can't. And this doesn't have sense, it really doesn't have sense but I think that it just demonstrate that even from blood we can grow, even from broken we can still be something, something that doesn't make sense but still something beautiful.
We should be angry, fuck healing, fuck understanding, I was a kid I didn't deserve any of it and still it happened, and I shouldn't feel like I need to forgive, I need to heal, I don't need that I need justice and I will have it screaming and kicking.
Fuck healing, stay angry from now on.
Own your anger, own yourself like a fucking lion going out hunting.