Even though trauma has a way of becoming the wallpaper of my head,watch me drag the art out of my suffering.Watch me plant seeds down my spineand bloom into a garden of poetryfrom every horrible thing that has ever happened to me, all the nights my voiceturned to cement and I couldn't say anything-Watch me build an empire from the ashesof everything that tried to destroy me.

I am trying to both be happy and pay attention to the world around me. I do not know if it is possible to do both at the same time.

I cannot let anything be her fault, even if it was. Especially if it was.

This is proof that she cares about something; it doesn't always have to be me.