Of Ropes and Ty's

Written over skype to one of my best friends, Tyler.

Together in thoughts lies the potential to kill ones self—slowly, painfully, in thorns of paper cuts lived up against such sun-kissed skin; it seems like a sin to do as such. To mirror actions and purposes unrushed by past debacles, fights and injuries that still to this day puncture the heart with a mighty fist. In lies the memory of every scar dysphoria details to be left unmentioned, for who needs such darkness on ones shoulder?

The ideal imagery of what is to be seen in our reflections is not always as it seems—we expect what we see on the inside, for what we feel, not as we are. However, once a glance is stolen, eyes meeting with frightening familiar ones, words appear. Words of past, present, future lies; words do not tell the truth, they tell reality, they tell madness. Some believe the words—some don’t.

To be as brave as to shush such drabbles, to stand up tall, bind your lungs full of air and be ridden of a name that only makes one feel upset more than anything is truly a miracle in itself.

To say goodbye to the past, hello to the future, hello to your true self, not as the girl once upon a time however as the boy named Tyler that forevermore is implanted within my heart and memory is truly a story that needs to be told. 

The End

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