Disconnected; torn.

My hands are behind my back in chains. I'm disconnected from my head when I feel my heart burning like this.

Can you hear me from behind my newly locked door, dad...mom...Samantha...Maggie...anyone? I feel captured by something uncomfortable. I yearn to be surrounded by bright lights that make me feel lighter. Lighter than this, but heavy enough to make me realize that struggle is equivalent to scar tissue, and scar tissue is essential to my ever growing body that belongs to my only loving Daddy.

I want to cry when I stare at nothing, because when my mind is blank I think about the mountains. Mexico. The cross I had to carry. The cross He had to carry. And my immovable body feels useless because I'm not spreading my wings like I should and I'm not opening my mouth to present this beautiful knowledge I have of the world. Of God. Of the mountains.

It's like someone has taken a king sized sheet and placed it over my head. I can see through it but I still feel trapped. I'm drinking my Izze that tastes like alcohol and my chains are becoming tighter. My insence is pissed off at me for not burning it, and I set it on fire as we speak.

I want to dig my nose into that book for forever and just read the red words for a while.

I'm torn.