I'M a Mess

I Am. . . still alive. I am still thinking, breathing, wishing, and dreaming. I am my own mentor, my own hynosis instructor, my own therapist. I am my own person, my own. No one else's. No one controls me. No one commands me. I am ME. I know exactly what I want. I know who I am. A broken heart means nothing anymore. Bleeding sorrow has become just a small sidestep of everyday life; it means nothing. No matter what happens now, I can never again be whole. I can never again be broken in such a way that breathing is impossible. No matter; I can breathe now. I am it. I am special, strong, beautiful, confident, and my own person. No one else means anything to me; I am totally alone. No one can help anymore. No human being alive can put me back together again. I do not want to be whole. Whole pieces end up more broken than before. Broken pieces don't have to worry about getting broken, for they already are. I like being broken. Being broken is not a crime. Being alone is not a crime. I am on my own: perfectly ruined, perfectly broken, perfectly used, rusted, cracked, and pained. Perfectly dusty, scratched, beaten, and crumbled. In a perfect sense, i'm a mess.