crying.

i don't think my family even cares that i'm dying.  not that i want it to be a huge deal but when they make fun of me because well, i'm less of a human, it hurts. and instead of crying in front of them, i run to my room and slam the door because i know if i cry in front of them, they'll only make fun of me and call me a baby.

i'm sorry i'm weak and dying. i didn't ask for this though. i didn't ask for any of it.

i'm so afraid sometimes that i'm not good enough: not pretty enough, not smart enough, not funny enough. i'm just not good enough in my eyes. although i strive to reach these goals and i normally do, i'm just not enough for myself. i need to be more okay with me. who i am. who am i?

twisted feet, lazy legs, holding arms, intertwined fingers. 

existing in a state between dreaming and reality.

the tangled mess of skin beneath the blankets. 

time moves too fast but there is no limit.

meeting eyes, lost visuals, meeting lips.

breathing, hearts beating in sync.

the slightest contact of skin.

an eruption of chemicals.

let go of the world.

slowly drifting.

you and me.

divine.

love.

us.

.

this is me starting over. i started this so long ago and everything has been hidden because the government asked me to do so. but here i am to share my story. it's beginning. life, that is. everything is changing and i will make sure it does not go back to how it was. ever.