There is something beautiful about owning your own story,
Whether it breathes magic of fairytales,
or fire of tragedies.
I promise you if you ask I will read some of mine to you,
Page by page,
Chapter to chapter,
I’m a pretty open book.
But my story is mine to bare,
And only my hands can handle the delicate pages the right way.
View my story like a diary,
If I open it up to share with you,
don’t take it take it for granted,
and rip the pages out at the seam
so you can claim that you “have this one friend that went through this and they…”
If I wanted everyone to know my story I would have become an actress
Or hired a reality TV show to make a story of the shit show that is my life.
But I didn’t,
I shared it with you,
So carry it with care,
Take it out when you want to remember who I am,
because one day I will be gone,
and all you will have left is that story,
that memory of me.
So ask me to read a chapter from my life,
and I will tell it all to you,
because someday my chapters will end,
and my story will be over…