It’s not the same. It isn’t real.

It’s not the same. It isn’t real.
I don’t let them turn me into the same people who hurt me. I never will.
People like that love company.
Sometimes my posts betray me. I snitch on myself, as the kids say.
In this house, you say goodbye when you leave.
I can’t just lay in bed all day. I have kids and responsibilities. Even if I didn’t, I still can’t stay in bed all day.
You don’t know what’s missing because you don’t even realize a piece should be there.
Whatever your situation is, no matter how universal it might feel, know that it’s different for almost everyone.
I know we’re not supposed to mention those things. It makes us uncomfortable, but we’re all adults here.
There are so many pops and cracks, you’d think I was a walking pile of rap music record albums.
You must be logged in to post a comment.