Afraid of love and death and scars
And I’ve come to this crazy conclusion that none of it will ever sum up the full potential of my life, and no matter how many beautiful boys break my heart, no matter how much grief I’ve gone through, no matter how many thin lined scars cover me from head to toe it will not make me anymore meaningful then I already am. But the sad truth is that the truth is just something you wished was a lie even though you sat there beside me crying Saturday night begging me to tell you. We both know you weren’t ready to hear it, and maybe that’s why it’s called the sad truth because it’s the bitter sweet taste of knowing you don’t have to doubt anymore but also realizing that you can’t change the truth or tweak it. It’s almost like those 20 second ads on YouTube they are too long to listen to but too short to skip and it almost makes you wonder if anybody else feels meaningful or if that’s something you accomplish seconds before inhaling your last breathe. Could it really be just you that feels this way? Is it possible for a world with billions of people to all at once feel alone even though we all know we are not the only ones alive thriving and surviving in this weird gravitational sphere filled with dirt and salt water they call earth and beg us to take care of and treat kindly which we can’t even do considering the amount of garbage we pour out onto the streets daily.
But really how could they expect us to take care of a big dirt ball when half of us refuse to take care of our own flesh and skin?