25.07.14 (Day 215)
Everyone has luggage
A past that they carry
I don’t judge
Leave your bags at the door
Others do though
Make me carry my past
Like a heavy cross
Dragging on the floor
I’m down on the ground
They kicked me
Throttled, bottled, cut and broken
But I get up again and walk
They don’t understand
Why would they? How could they?
Why do this?
When all I want to do is talk
About chronic depression and BPD
Sleep deprivation, OCD, PTSD; about me
About the boy they once knew
Now a screwed up piece of paper on the ground
They walk by on the other side
They look straight ahead
Not up at the tall buildings instead
Or on the railway tracks, where one day I may be found
Abandoned by them
Left for dead
Forgotten, cut off
No past, no ties
If only they could see me now
They’d see that I’m tired
And the luggage I still carry
In the bags under my eyes
But they won’t get me
I’m on the run and not looking back
I’m looking forward and around
And with no regret
I keep going. Every day another mile
I fight back; I kick back; I smile
The past is in those bags. I won’t forget

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