A Home For The Broken People

older

9•27•18
1:20 a.m.

In sixth grade I got a kitten. She was from my grandmothers farm where she keeps them and treats them with kindness they never got but always deserved. This kitten was special, she was beautiful with blackish blue fur, swiped across with a lovely corduroy. I named her mittens. Not because she had the splotched of fur on her feet, but because it simply suited her. She covered me in warmth when I was sad, and licked my face when I just couldn't stop crying at night. She died six weeks later. They said it was her liver, and I would've begged to differ, thinking it was just because she wanted to get away from me. I felt like my sadness and depression had its everyday sessions and that was what drove them away. Thought maybe I should end this, turns out I'm endless, and I think that's the worlds greatest flaw. I live to see you smile, you strive to make me file down to the bones of who I used to be. That gun you hold, locked and loaded I swear I thought you had a different motive, this world isn't all that pretty. You were a friend, or a lover, who said you could help me. Now I see you had no sympathy. I held you a little closer, because the nights were getting colder, until the day you said it just isn't meant to be. Once again, I could only think, maybe you'll understand when you're older. I'm older, maybe wiser, I don't fit any better. My head not where it is supposed to be. I love with my heart, every pump another footstep in the direction where I hope you think of me. This fire in my heart, left ashes in my veins and ripped up the insides of my beautiful little catastrophe of me.
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