When I am screaming to myself, "Just let
me live," one might think I am talking to some
external power exerting restriction over me: smothering parents,
toxic friends, an omnipresent God. And while it's true that I
cry to the universe at night over things that they control, they
are just binding my wrists; I am always the one pressing the
knife to my throat. The way my stomach twists itself when I'm
in the presence of others like it's a damp towel to be wrung,
the way my mouth deftly sews itself shut so that my thoughts may
never roam, the way my legs will never hold a fighting stance
because all they've been taught to do is run, that is all me.
The sun and moon, forever looking over my actions, have long
since realised it, so maybe it's time that I do too.