Getting over it💔

 Getting over it

There's a version of me that didn't make it through. I carry her every day, the one with a quiet voice and kind eyes who was certain that softness was always the way. 

She saw the good in people, even the ones with darkness on their tongues, convinced if she was patient enough, their damage, too, could be undone. She lived with her heart on her sleeve, feeling the warmth in the coldest of places. Her hand shook and her teeth chattered, yet she continued.

the way she never give up, going through things that would have broken someone, responding with just "some bad luck". But the world mistook her kindness for weakness.
They filled her voice from the inside of her throat, believing She was something that needed to be tamed. If she could see me now, she'd look at me so confused.
All she ever wanted was love. But softness doesn't survive the war. Sometimes she flickers in the way I hesitate, hoping softness will slip from my pen.
She sits beside me in the mirror, mouthing words I swore I'd never say again. I couldn't keep doing it to her. Watching her disappointed every time I knew she'd kill herself trying to teach grace in a world that only ever cares if you survive. Sometimes it feels like the world won, allowing it to take her away. So now there's a version of me that didn't make it through, and I carry her every day.


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