Rebuild

It isn’t simple.

One day I fell down in the middle of the street and skinned my knees,

as the rest of the world moved on.

They teach you in school to get back up when you find yourself

b l e e d i n g

on the pavement.

Fall down

seven

Get up

eight.

But it is not as simple as pulling yourself to your feet and wiping away the dust,

when your entire body aches with shattered memories of a life

that is such a dream,

you’re not even sure it’s yours.

And they teach you that normal girls do not bleed for fun,

that normal girls know how to smile through perfect teeth,

and giggle like the world bears no weight on their shoulders.

I created my own

Atlas.

Sentenced myself to bear the weight of an entire

world

on my shoulders.

It is not as simple as shrugging off the weights of everything that is burning,

bubbling, brewing, melting your skin.

When everything else has faded away and I am left with bone,

is there even anything to rebuild?

We are taught that it is meant to be cathartic,

that there is something romantic,

about

crumbling

so long as you don’t do it completely enough that you cannot put yourself back together again.

Because there is a fine line between socially acceptable pixie dream girl and mentally unstable.

Darling, it is not that simple.

Because, I have crossed that line.

I have shredded it to pieces with everything that I have,

and I have blown the world out of the water,

with all the pieces of me that I

cannot

fix.

It is not as simple as

break

and then

restore

When there isn’t anything to build on.