I don't really write anymore
I have a lot on my to do list
I've been really busy
I just started college
My days are filled
I tell myself these things to make it okay
I don't write anymore, but thats okay
Okay? Okay.
I really am okay,
Usually when I write I'm not.
But I haven't been writing and thats okay.
Everything is okay.
No one really reads anymore,
so does it matter if I write if no one reads?
But really why I'm writing is to apologize.
I'm sorry that I haven't been writing.
My apology isn't even really for you but for me.
I'm asking my aching fingers for forgiveness because I stem everything they want to say.
I'm asking my bruised lips for forgiveness because they haven't had as much experience as they used to...
and you can take that statement two ways.
I'm telling every piece of me how damn sorry I am for not allowing it to just be.
I'm sorry to my back for bending over it backwards for people who don't even bother to kiss each vertebrae.
I'm sorry to my stomach for sketching sadness into it in a way that shows beneath my clothes.
I'm sorry to my eyes because honestly I never wear my glasses or my contacts and I'm constantly putting strain on them. I want to see the world but not put effort into seeing it.
I'm sorry.
Maybe I'll write again.
But I wouldn't count on it,
because my fingers are too busy pointing at people and myself to type out a sentence.
I've been really busy
I just started college
My days are filled
I tell myself these things to make it okay
I don't write anymore, but thats okay
Okay? Okay.
I really am okay,
Usually when I write I'm not.
But I haven't been writing and thats okay.
Everything is okay.
No one really reads anymore,
so does it matter if I write if no one reads?
But really why I'm writing is to apologize.
I'm sorry that I haven't been writing.
My apology isn't even really for you but for me.
I'm asking my aching fingers for forgiveness because I stem everything they want to say.
I'm asking my bruised lips for forgiveness because they haven't had as much experience as they used to...
and you can take that statement two ways.
I'm telling every piece of me how damn sorry I am for not allowing it to just be.
I'm sorry to my back for bending over it backwards for people who don't even bother to kiss each vertebrae.
I'm sorry to my stomach for sketching sadness into it in a way that shows beneath my clothes.
I'm sorry to my eyes because honestly I never wear my glasses or my contacts and I'm constantly putting strain on them. I want to see the world but not put effort into seeing it.
I'm sorry.
Maybe I'll write again.
But I wouldn't count on it,
because my fingers are too busy pointing at people and myself to type out a sentence.
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