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Rag Doll

I can hear the screaming in my head of all the things I’ve ever broken. The shattered remains may cut my feet walking through them but I have to walk through them. The guilt around me is the air I breathe and I try to act as though I have a breathing mask on.
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But I don’t.
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I hold on so tightly to all the things I have ever known and even when new perspectives come into the picture, the old one still remains and still sings softly in my ear as a reminder of what it was. Most of the time I quarantine it to the back of my mind where all of my busy thoughts are.
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But they’re still there.
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Now I have this new skin and I have this new heart and I can smile from the freedom of knowing it’s okay to be okay. Even though I have all these new things that make it easier to breathe, my past still clings to me as a shadow. And yes, I can shut my eyes as tight as I can, and pretend it’s finally gone.
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But it’s not.
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I’ve replaced the frayed string holding me together with pretty yellow ribbon, and though it holds much tighter, I still need it.
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But at least the package is prettier.
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