burns ‍ ﹠ ‍ blue ‍ fingers.

at sixteen, you still think you can escape from your father. you aren't listening to his voice speaking through your mouth, you don't see him in the way you hold your body, you don't hear his whisper in your blood.

i am the ghost of the trainwreck that is my mother, created by my father's hand.

my  mother  did  not  mean  to  hate  me.  she  did  not  even  know  she  hated  me,  and  yet,  i  was  hated.  and  i  carried  that  hate  with  my  through  life  with  more  pride  than  it  perhaps  deserved.  a  bruise  of  honour.

enduring and forgiving are two different things. you must not forgive the cruelty of this world. it’s our duty as human beings to be angry at injustice. but we must also endure it. because someone must sever this chain of hatred.