The Broken Face

Some days I don’t recognize myself. I look in the mirror and I want to see the girl that I used to be. I want to see the girl who was adventurous and spontaneous. I want to find that girl who loved to be with people and share experiences. I want to be me again.

But I am lost. I am lost in this circus of hell that has caused me to become what I am not. I am broken, but I don’t want to ask for help.

There is a part of me that finds safety in my brokenness. When I look at the brokenness of my life, the me I have lost is less important.

I am lonely most of the time. I am lonely and mixed up and I don’t know from one minute to the next how that minute will go.

So I stay broken.

This is not what I asked for, certainly not what I wanted for my life but it is what I have become and there is safety in my brokenness. Healing takes time and I have all the time in the world. The me I loved is gone.

The life I chose has carved out a person who is not the me I am. I want to be reckless, I want to be loving, I want to be strong and fight. I want to bring back the fire that was inside me, the fire that drove me toward greatness. I want to be good.

But that me is gone and I am simply a broken face in time slipping through the back door unnoticed and unwanted.

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