concept: me, sleeping in a forest. flowers grow from my scars. moss fills the lonely parts of me. ferns are growing in the pit of my stomach where fear used to live
I’m not too sure which direction I’m going to take myself. From the winds to the rains I just let mysel flow and released the need to just control, control, control. I took my hand off the wheel, I let my colors dance in its vibrancy, I watched my sunshine turn to rain to bloom flowers in the soil. I just…I just learned to be.
Growing up neglected can mean you don’t feel like you get to be picky about who gives you attention or what kind of attention you even get, you cling onto anyone who acknowledges your existence and it can end up so painful
