Dear -----,

When you happened, I thought you were good. I was wrong. Never in my life have I been so wrong about someone. You were manipulative. An attention whore. A bully. A drama starter. I went off on someone on your behalf and to that person I will never be able to stop apologizing because I defended someone so horrid.

You manipulated me. You manipulated my family. You broke people who loved one another apart for your own personal gain. I despise you, and I doubt I will ever want to be in your company again. Just looking at you makes me uncomfortable.

I live by the motto: “Just because someone did something bad, doesn’t mean you should forget all the good they did.” Unfortunatly for you, I can’t think of a single good thing to weigh out anything that I listed.

You may kindly fuck off,

Avery.

I sat there, holding the younger girl against my chest as she sobbed, my arms wrapped tightly around her abdomain. "It's okay, sweet. Everything's going to be alright."

I pet her hair as she tried to push through the tears, words choking in her throat. She couldn't speak, at least not clearly as she bawled. "Take a minute, breath, love."

The sobs steadily came to a stop, a sniffle pushing through "Another father's day without a dad..." she said, the new found drips of salt soaking into my shirt.

I looked down at the girl, a pang being sent threw my heart as I looked at her brown, long hair sticking to the sides of her face. Her green eyes hidden behind a layer of glass, making them look a chestnut brown. The frams of red that held the glass, now smugged and dirty from crying.

My hands traveled up to her face, cupping her cheeks as I wiped the liquid off her skin and pryed the chestnut hair from the sides of her head. "Everything will work out just fine. You don't need a dad to be strong. You just need to hang in there because things get better. So much better."

I felt tears well in my eyes as I looked down at the five year old, knowing how her future paned out. How things really did get so much better than they were now.

I enbraced the little lady again, making sure to give her a warm hug.

"Just hang in there, okay?"

(TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM)

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Open, type, delete, repeat.

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Should it be horror or humor?

Should it be light or dark?

Should it be meaningful or inconsequential?

Type it out, see how it work.

That didn't-

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Why do I keep using the same damn word-

Now I have to open a thesaurus.

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No, that doesn't sound right.

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Should I try to write romance?

No, I suck at that.

Action sounds better.

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Should I write about someone dying?

That sounds better than romance at least.

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I've run out of ideas... damn it.

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Anything is better then rubbing my skin raw, mom.

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Maybe writing is my coping skill.

People thought they knew who he was.

People thought they knew him.

People thought they knew the boy who always smiled.

People thought he was just happy.

No one could have known the boy beneath his skin.

No one could have know besides the boy himself.

But who was the boy he knew rumbled within him?

He has pretended for so long, trying to please everyone.

He pretended, not thinking about who he was himself.

He pretended, forgetting who he was.

Did this mean he’d have to start from the ground up?

No, the boy has never been himself.

There was nothing to take down in the first place.

The first step to finding who he is truely is to tear away from the facade he gave others.

To rip the mask from his personality.

Letting others see the ugly within.

Because that ugly is his true self.

One that others cannot taint.

There once was a place with a Teal Sakura Tree. There a smell of apple cinimon tea in the air; such a lovely smell. It have flower blooming in every direction. Blue hydreanyas off in the distance. Goregoeous daisy's in the warm, relaxing sunlight. I would sit under that tree. I'd bask in it's beauty. The way the the petals would aways fall softly to the round. It was mesmering. It's a place I never wanted to leave. But we all have to leave eventually.