Resentment

My first post on this site :)

No one speaks of how difficult it is to grow up loved and beaten, to grow up torn by many tales, to grow up questioning morals, and to grow up by yourself because trust and truth are hard to find.

I often resent myself for lacking sympathy for those who love me, and I wish that, by some miracle, I were this celestial, saintly creature incapable of being despondent. That one day I’d wake up as a ray of beautiful sunshine bursting with joy and positivity. A creature whose heart truly has no scars, and mind, no fears. I wish I were incapable of thinking about the words I hear or the things I see, that I am too strong, I wouldn’t mind a vile thing.
 
I have buried myself deep where they cannot reach me, where my voice is hard to hear and my eyes are hard to find. I have buried myself because I was once a creature with much love to give, and life just took and took and took.
 
Even I cannot understand my vast indifference, what I do know is that my light died long ago. I can’t remember when or how, however, the sounds that hurt me still linger in my soul, trapped in the hole I dug and in which I remain restless and despondent.

I resent myself, yes, but I also care to be understood. I have bled and am bleeding still. I only wish there was as much light in my heart as there were wounds.

Reviews

[robert harris jr]

I like this very gut wrenching powerful

[Alyaffa London]

Thank you!