If we don’t blame ourselves for our actions, who will? We are the rulers of our bodies. We should blame ourselves for the choices we make. Not the good choices but the choices where it all falls down and we don’t understand how it could have gotten so wrong. I say blame no one but yourself it was your choice no one else’s.
I’ve blamed myself, for all of the sins I’ve committed; no one else would blame me. The fears that I would bring down harsh words in the form of tempests and storms onto their precious self conscious, I would never do such a thing. But there is a fear that irks my heart.
What will become of my mannerism when I am older? Will I still be as caring and loving? Will I still be so lost in translucent thoughts? My greatest fear is that I’ll change, I’m afraid that growing up will change me. I don’t want to be anything other than who I am now. I have no intentions of changing. I know that as I grow things will make me change. My mind full of dreams ad hopes. Written down onto torn pages ridges jagged bit so gentle. My hopes in this book I know they’ll never come to fruition. Writing down my sins as if I were hiding them from my mother’s ghost, scared she would come down from above and scorn me with her disappointed clear brown eyes. Eyes so clear, almost as if a single impurity had never touched her soul, but I knew she had sinned before. We all sin.
I have a fear of never becoming anything once I have reached the goals that I have set for myself; I know that I am not the best at much. Gifted with sharp words and a sweet disposition, I’ve always felt like I’m a walking contradiction. Harsh words but a kindness to every hug I’ve ever given. Cursed with caring about people who I barely know, but I still want to help them. I’m scared that this will get the better of me. I’m scared I’ll let the world use me until I’m stuck within a place where nothing I do or say will matter.
I have big dreams, and small ambitions. I know they are relatively the same but I have dreams that I feel I could accomplish, but I know that I won’t be able to survive the obstacles that I have to hurdle over to get to the dream. My legs will get caught upon the hurdle, and I’ll be too embarrassed and scared to stand up and walk again. Cowardice greater than the stress that is plummeted upon my back by the ones who push me the hardest; running away from opportunities and people who could help me I have so much to gain and little to lose but I’m so scared to gain the knowledge and the power that comes with it.
I don’t really know why I’m scared; I’m probably scared I won’t be good enough. For now I’ll just focus on finding happiness in the little things in life. The little things, Trees, cool breezes. When I become older, wiser and someone to be, I wish to still have the same sight I have as I do now. I want to reminisce on the good times and the bad times. All of the times where I laughed and smiled and it had a meaning, even the times when I smiled just to put your worries back into your pocket. I want them to be remembered for as long as I am alive.
I’m really scared to grow up, but I’m scared even more to live my life and watch how it all plays out. What will happen to my family when I am finally within a hearse riding to fate? I know I can’t predict the future. I just know that I’m not ready for it.
Just, just not yet.