It didn’t start with us

Sister,

You and I bleed in similar ways. Likely, hold pressure in different ways. The scars uniquely different, uniquely our own. As we feel around in the dark we don’t lose our way. But it’s the self loathing. I think you can relate. The poison in our guts. The emotions just below the surface, scratching under the skin. Burning like hell to get out. Blood runs thinner and before the ship goes down in a wake of sin, a pool of regret, and there’s a thought that there’s a line not to cross. The self loathing and muted intuition creates the fire from within to push ahead. Another i to dot. Another t to cross—another line crossed. The morning brings regret that accentuates the headache. We crumble. We break. We’re people. As we pick up the pieces, there’s a creeping realization we’re just emotional outlaws keen on stitch work with callused fingers from remorseful patterns of weakness. And when I look for a guiding light, strength from within, it’s easy to see that not giving a fuck is just as suicidal as the gas pedal pinned at 100. And all the failed bad habits might surpass the good ones, but the good ones stick and in the routines, I find solace. Along the way there’s understanding. Introspective thinking is powerful. To take control. To surrender, becoming untethered with no bounds. To kill my ego. To kill my ego. To kill my ego. Sister, kill your ego.