Confession

I feel like.

No.

I know,

my outlook on the world has,

gotten darker.

Darker.

Yet darker.

It's so hard,

to stifle the cries.

The cries of,

“I can do anything”,

“Determination”.

Yet I let it consume me.

It allow it to encumber me.

I let myself be held back and stopped and,

hurt and remember and.

It hurts to forget,

to remember.

I was always told that,

blood makes the grass grow a little greener.

Grass has never grown in my garden.

Only seeds of hate can strive,

that grow weeds of sorrow.

But in my soul,

deep within the depths of my being.

I feel a light.

A ray of sunshine.

But who am I kidding.

Nobody.

No one will ever believe me.

Cloudy grey skies coat,

coat the field of hopes and dreams, 

killing any flowers that thought of existing that day.

Darkness falls and darkness rises.

Ragged breaths,

beating heart,

crumbling mind,

the world is falling apart.

It's breaking apart,

tearing at the seams.

It's useless to,

to even hope to try.

To even think about,

what I could've done,

what I didn't complete,

what I should do.

Makes me shatter like the reality around me.

Who knows my name,

who knows my pain,

who knows my heart,

who knows my soul,

who knows me.

Who really knows me.

No, 

one.

Nobody.

Truly.

Knows. 

Me. 

And that's.

That's just.

Just the way.

That's just the way I want it to be.

That's just the way I want it to be.

That's just, 

the way,

I want,

it,

to be.

But at the end of the day, nobody really cares but, 

me.

It would be great to be able to exist out of reality.

To be able to,

disappear and see.

A world where I am gone.

To see all my effects,

on an ungrateful,

uncaring,

unloving,

unfortunate world.

Tell me I'm worthless.

Because I most definitely am.

Good for nothing,

failure of a person.

That's me.

Strella.

Stephanie.

The names change depending on who you ask.

Stephanie the author.

Strella the speaker.

Both the same soul.

The same tortured heart.

It's me.

It's me.

It's just,

me.

It's all just,

it's not you, it's not this, it's not anything.

It's just me.

If I were anyone else other than myself,

I'm sure that I'd want me to die as well.

Worthless.

Strella.

Unloved.

Strella.

Lied to.

Strella.

Manipulatable.

Strella.

Everything bad and everything else that's worse.

Strella.

And the person who let's it all be known.

Me.

Stephanie Arison.

But also me.

Strella Aguiar.

Both of us,

me.

And none of them,

myself.