We didn’t make it past today the last time we tried to quit cigarettes. We almost got a divorce only one month into this marriage. My mind got paranoid, and I began to play out scenarios of him leaving, of me not being enough, of us not having the strength to endure all of the shit I knew we would have to endure.
Being in love, and setting yourself free is somewhat of an anomaly.
I am completely unaware of myself and think me repulsive.
I am not ok.
This nicotine-free lifestyle is making me realize that I was masking my self-hate with fucking cigarettes!
I have also come to the swift conclusion that I am not a poet. I am not a writer. I am a farce and need to leave the public eye for a while and re-emerge as something other than THIS.
I was born at the wrong time.
I was born at the wrong time.
Born wrong.
Stay tuned for more bad poetry.
