anywhere can feel like home if your home is broken enough.
i made a very lonely place for myself and never quite forgave myself for it, as deserved.
but good lord, i stopped blaming people months ago
when my phone won't stop ringing and i let thousands
of calls go to voicemail never to be heard, then cry myself at night for being so cruel.
to them and to myself.
it was never them.
you began to lose your mornings to not having good reasons to wake up.
you began to live the same night hours as no one else.
just like how it is at home.
no one would be happy to be kept in a box, but i convinced myself
the smaller the space i take, the less hurt people can cause on me.
so i stayed in the box and watched rainfall and trinkets of small squirrels on the outside.
i would sleep, i would wake, i would walk.
in actuality, the pain and restlessness of staying inside or venturing out to feel something are of almost the same weight.
i was never made to be a good friend to anyone. not even made to be a good daughter or a good sister or a good granddaughter.
just raised myself to be good to me. and that's on me.
no one likes a person who doesn't want to be helped. even i don't like people who don't want to receive help.
but god, isn't it better
than faring others' uncomfortability at the expense of your own.
