The Fight


I used to dream of smoke in my lungs and a death under my skin. I used to dream about sin like it would be my candy and my fingers used to twitch and tingle for things that weren’t already mine.

Now I feel the stars in my lungs and and galaxies under my skin. Now I crave a gentle touch and my fingers ache to give soft touches back.

The half of me that I’m giving up, moving on from, the half of me so dark and damaged isn’t something I’m proud of; but I don’t just pretend that part of me never existed, I don’t pretend I was always good.

I say good-bye to it like a toxic lover. My hands fold it gently in a box to float down the rivers I cleanse myself in. It wasn’t that it was so horrible, it’s that I finally realize I’m worth more. And I only wish for the best to rise up out of the putrescent past I’m leaving.

I am tired from these two sides of me battling in me, waging a war that has lasted for years. But I don’t give up and I strive and push for what I know I can be, what I know to be better.

Because I am so much better than what I was.

And I deserve so much more than what I gave myself.

There are casualties from both sides, and I am tired.

But I’m trying.


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