i know you shouldn’t bury away the things that are hurting you. that if you don’t write about it, or talk about it, or tell someone, that it’ll just burrow deeper between the sinew of your skin and make a home out of your shame and fear and disgust, because a large part of you doesn’t want to acknowledge it’s existence or have anyone else see those parts of you you’re hiding and trying to nurse better, in the dark, but failing to do so - because you know they’ll think less of you, or worse, god damn it - agree. and that’s it. it’s done, and they’re gone. adios, it was nice to know you.

it doesn’t make it better. i know that.

but fuck if i wish i could take it back. let no one see me like that ever again. so if they leave someday, they’ll leave knowing me as a worse person than the worst there is. i should have kept my trap shut than continuously go around in these circles, wondering when i’m gonna fucking learn.