To live violently

you know, I have to live this life. I have to live it. I have to. I have to live it so much and so intensely, that it breaks my heart. I have this ache in my heart, and it sits there, every moment, getting deeper, bigger, darker. I need to live this life the way that my heartbeat feels in my chest, echoing into every hollow end of me. I want a story to tell, I want the wind to tell me 'you are alive' every time it kisses my face.

I am alive.

I am alive.

I am alive.

This moment to the next. I think, even if I hold my sadness in my eyes, and the knives in my chest, I also hold happiness in my soul and healing scars on my back. I am made up of losses, but I am also made up of victories. The scars on my skin and the hurt in my eyes are moments that prove that I am living. They are the stories I can not bear to write and the things I can not cry about.

My life was meant to be lived, and that it is, unconditionally and unforgivingly. Here's to my mistakes, the moments of intense pain, where the world seems to rip open. Here's to my head, heavy in doubt but carrying the wonder in my eyes. Here's to the many lives I've lived, the way they flow in and out of each other, and with every breath, only to say, you are alive.