All my days alone, deep in thought of the hatred I have for the world. The injustice, because I was meant to be something more yet I have been dealt the wooden spoon; the unlucky hand.

I threw the cape mother wrapped around me on the wet ground behind me. The very cape she bundled me in when I was left on the doorsteps of a stranger’s home.

When was younger, it was a thousand needles slowly inching deeper and now, an old scar, a dull ache which will never quite disappear. It seems today I have finally snapped, every emotion that I have ignored, every moment I forced my true self to step aside for the sake of another, all the cries of agony came rushing back to this point in time, to this present.

“It is not fair!” I cry out from the depths of a core residing within myself.

Rain drowning out my very presence. My tears seamlessly disappear, thunder drowning my voice, and only when lightning struck will anyone be able to faintly make out a person looking out to the roaring ocean beyond.

The sad thing is that despite this climatic moment, no one will truly ever hear me. As when the rain lifts, it will be morning and no one would know I ever stood at the very edge of the cliff finally telling the world finally how I felt. No one would know.

When is enough, enough? When should I stop running away? When will I ever let go and stop defining who I am by who I was? Will I ever accept this reality I was brought into or will a bitterness for the world be spoken in my last breath?

I know I am forgetting that I am not alone but at this moment, friends and family have no place in my life with the choice I have made to wallow in my own misery.

Pitiful, really.


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