Weather

The weather expresses my mood. Rain’s crying on warmly lit household rooftops with a blue hugh. Pouring tears of grief of everything.I miss connection. The only real connection that happens is when the salty water escapes my eyes and slowly seeps into my black bedsheet on my bed. The salt water seeps into the cloth. I want to do that. I want to melt so far into my floorboards where shame can’t chase me. I have run from shame for years,  being too scared to stop running and face it. There is no place I can hide, no place I can drop it; like a hot pan that you left in the oven you preheat to 500 degrees. The worst kind of shame is shame of being born. It attacks ravenously when you do something wrong or just not good enough. It claws at your self love and worth and takes bites out of your confidence. Shreds your true self to pieces so all that’s left is the skeleton of who you were and the input memory of the person you’re supposed to be. Some people might say, to act like that person is a mistake .To be attracted to that person is wrong. To be fat is ugly or to show emotion is childish or petty--Who tells you, you can’t be who you are? Your parental figures, your peers? No, you don’t need to listen to them. Don’t care what they think. Be proud of who you are. Don’t let others pick at your bones and force you to shove the real you deep inside. Be who you are not who you're meant to be