Starting Over/all of them and me

It is difficult to transform yourself, because you attempt to transform people, and you can’t

change people.

               I would much rather be the unlucky individual consistently mistreated than the leader of

my own misfortune through the decisions I continue to make. Some days I feel I’ve settled into

some kind of community and others I imagine myself as some kind of a cancerous appendage.

               You never really get to start over. Stinging words dignate stinging words(your troubles

seem to follow you in the forms of different strangers). Even when you like someone very much,

your stepmother exists within them and exists within you. I love you in my own way.

               I do not you are ever ready for heartbreak, no matter how many times it has happened. It

casts a shadow on the fluttering butterflies and the hope. It is so awful that you always lose the

people you like the most, and that loss dampens that person in the process. I take it all so

seriously I think I’ll burst.

               Your past invents you- our past invents us. I am tethered to my childness like vines. You

look at the art differently once you’ve known them. You’d look at this differently if you’ve known

me. I cannot capture the years in cryptic messages, a treasure map of stories.

               We are constantly reinvented. Every newness is newness- for everyone. I can’t ask

questions here, I would track of the concept at hand. Reincarnation has to have a past by

definition, but the act itself is impossible if it meant losing your own history. Losing your history

would lose yourself, too.