I'll try to fix you.

I wish it were easier for me to talk. Just inhale, and let words fall.
But it has never and will never be an easy feat to speak so openly. I feel exposed when I allow myself to confess; awaiting the next bullet to penetrate through my taut skin. Writing is different, not easy, but different. If I could not write, I am unsure if anyone would hear me, the real me. I have this love/hate relationship with writing. It allows me to be nothing but honest, without apprehension. It also constrains me to the emotion I so willingly conceal from others. Integrity, something I try so hard to emulate, is intensely arduous for me to reveal aloud.

Just inhale, and let words fall.

Conviction.

I’m trying not to think about you, can’t you just let me be.

Suppression is not an easy feat but it seems I have mastered this ability well.

Head up, smile on, exude some sense of well-being
...rinse and repeat. If I miss a step, I’ll become that vulnerable girl;
I can’t be that girl. There is an overwhelming feeling of numbness permeating through my body; if only tears would come to wash away the hurt I no longer seem to endure. This path is leading me to a destiny of solitude; I need to relinquish the wall that never seems to collapse.

A life full of constant disappointment in humanity has jaded me.

I love but when the slightest taste of love convolutes my life,
I instantaneously evade the affect. How can I feel deserving of something so omnipotent when I continuously afflict the people around me for no reason other than because I am fearful.
I want to be better,
I want to love without apprehension,
I want to become the woman I know I can be but most of all,
I want to believe in life again.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life you were waiting for this moment to arise.