Used To Be

by, Cassandra

Used to be, I’d get so caught up in other people’s stories that I’d forget my own. To me, my own life was nothing more then a story I had heard, once upon a time.

A sweet girl, (a little misunderstood, but that’s to be expected, really) living her life, because that’s the only thing she could do. So-called “traumatic experiences” aside, nothing exciting ever happened to her. She had the same problems every other person in the whole damn world had. She was nothing special. No more significant then a speck of dust.

Used to be, but not anymore. I’m sick of living life like that. I’m sick of being pushed aside and my problems belittled.

Yes, I’m a lot better off then a lot of other people (something I know first hand), but I’m through with believing their lies that what I feel and think, and need, and want don’t matter. Because they do. So I’m stepping out, stretching my fractured wings (the ones you tried making me believe were broken beyond repair) and I’m getting a running jump.

If I fall, I fall. If not, I’ll fly. I’ll take to the sky. (try to tell me it’s not by my own spirit now, asshole. tell me it’s not my flesh, my blood, my heart, my life… my words, and soon… soon, my actions. try telling me to my face, and see just how much I’ve grown.)

Used to be, I didn’t know how to be. Well, it’s time to rectify that, don’t you think?