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I often ache in places that I shouldn’t be. I despised myself so often, and every time, I forget when’s the last time I’m actually happy to see myself in the mirror, alive and breathing.
I ache in places where it is easier to put on a mask than to open up even to the most trusted friend I have because it is embarrassing to always say the same pain even after they gave me the most beautiful advice out there.
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I ache in places where only I hear the sobs I tried to swallow down my throat before it can swallow me in whole. I ache in the darkest of the night when everyone is in their peaceful slumber. I entertain the screams inside my head, telling me I am not enough and can never be fixed, too broken, too sad, too lonely, too ugly, too fat to fit in the expectation of those around me.
I ache in places where numbers tried to measure my worth, in transcript records, and on a weighing scale, like I am always missing to pin the dart to the center of the board. Like I always start to change for the better but ended up messing things up more than I did the last time.
I often ache in places that I shouldn’t be. I know I am more than what my thoughts are telling me, I am more than just the numbers on my transcript or on the weighing scale, I am so much more than my face, I know I am at least pretty in my own way. I get what they advise me and I take it seriously. But that’s the mere reason I am aching in places I shouldn’t be. It’s like I am conscious but I am not, asleep but I am not… It’s like, all this time, I have this misplaced pain, undefined pain, living rent-free inside of me.
I often ache in places that I shouldn’t be.
I often ache…
