Here’s another day of me sitting next to a broken human expecting them to save me, pondering on life.
As if they have the answers.
Somehow I manage to laugh at myself.
Under my bedsheets, wiping my own tears.
Oh, what an aberration.
I am not only carrying the trauma of evilness and selfishness of today’s day and age and my next door neighbor.
I am also a Holocaust survivor.
I am also a Jew in denial of every single tear that streamed down my eye.
I ask God for forgiveness.
I get that I deserve whatever I have.
In the weirdest sense, I am the most religious person with the most common sense.
But there is a door that keeps shutting every time I try to get out, because I am locked in a dark, big house where I’m trying to get out, but somehow, when I get to the door, somehow, someone, manages to lock it.
When I look at my feminine nails, and my crazy love for makeup, I remember that after all I am just a lady with curves.
I am this thing that’s made of atoms that in a few years time will perish away.
I am that thing that maybe takes herself too seriously.
I sit under my covers, covered in blood and covered in troubles that aren’t mine, wanting out, but someone, somehow, keeps locking the door.