I will never understand what’s wrong with me and I’m tired of trying to be better. How did I get here? What did I do? I smell like fear. I barely remember what I’ve been through. But it never mattered. I can pick it all up. Brush off the dirt, and throw it in the pickup truck. Keep going. Wind blowing. My pieces scattered like...This is a truncated preview of the original post. Press here to view the full post. Post Comment Receive notifications Add a comment...
