Show Me The Stars

I don’t want to hear anymore lectures.

No more sermons.

No more being preached at.

I don’t want to be told what I am and what I’m not. I don’t want to be told how I should be and that I’m not enough of something.

I don’t want to be told that I should talk to my parents.

Talk to my brother.

Talk to everyone and tell them what the scars are.

I don’t want to be told I should be more outgoing.

And I don’t need to be told one more time that what I’m doing is an addiction and that it will only get worse.

Or that I need to take that next step. The step after giving him my razors.

I just want to be held. I want someone to whisper into my ear,

“It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. You’re safe. You can still change. He sees you. He hasn’t forgotten you. He still loves you. I love you.”

That’s all. I don’t want anything else attached.

“I love you.”

I don’t want “I love you, but…” or “I love you, so…”

Just

“I love you.”

I want someone to hold my hands, look me straight in my eyes, and tell me I’m still alive. That I’m going to make it. That I’m going to make it. That I’m going to make it.

I want to be told that there is still breath in my lungs and blood pumping through my veins. That he hasn’t won yet. And that I’m worth something.

I want someone to show me the stars, and tell me of a wonderful creation. Not the broken and abused one that tends to be the only thing I ever see anymore.

No more lectures.

No more sermons.

No more being preached at.

Just tell me I haven’t been forgotten.

And that I’m still loved.

kadi.