God’s paper pawn

if i'm not my guilt, what am i? 

if i'm not an endless carousel of apologizes and silenced sorry, what am i?

if the emptiness 

and harshness 

and medias of entertainment

and unnecessary hatred 

and inappropriate laughs 

and mournful cries 

and the soul crushing lust of this world  that's stuffed inside of this weeping teenage girl's body doesn't define me,

what am i?

and despite the ease of breathing and self consciousness of living,

what is the resemblance between me and god's favorite,

if not bleeding, and full of cries?

feb 26th, 24