I felt the moment I started to understand myself, not precisely my conscious was the moment I started to fear the possibility of ending up alone. Don’t get me, wrong I’m not morally corrupt or can say there’s a line I won’t cross since I feel I haven’t been tested enough to make such a claim but I know, if push comes to shove; I would likely throw myself of a cliff and let you live with guilt; doesn’t this push me far from God’s grace?

This disregard of the life I have, the life that many people cherish and has become a burden to me made it abundantly clear, I could never possibly allow another to enter it with faith and trust, I’m truly not capable of such purity. It makes me feel pity, because I had always felt, if there’s anything that I knew was pure in this world, would be trust in what I’ve committed myself to, whether what I do for a living or cause I choose to follow and the given leisure /love to me by someone that felt I was worthy of them laying all their ugliness, hypocrisy, strengths and doubts in because of looking into my eyes, being with me made them appreciate all they had been through; it made it all worth it and wished they had met me even before they were who they were when they met me yet are beyond mesmerizingly grateful. I had always thought, if anything I would hold that faith till the time I close my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief for having lived so long.

Am I truly that ugly? I’ve been wondering about this fact and don’t know how to answer the question. What is ugly, my spirit is not filled with desire to conquer or acquire yet there’s scorn I can’t deny, for things I wished I had done and those I do but wish I had never done. I think my appearance isn’t what I’ve ever relied on so I could never truly state it’s not the standard any would abhor. My heart lacks experience because it’s impatient way has taken lead too many times and didn’t forgive or give chances, it left when unsatisfied, left when its curiosity was fulfilled, left even when it felt the colour diminish. This fickleness, does show a form of naivety that turns cheeky; makes any wonder if the ever was truth to where I stood, what I said and when I appeared. Couldn’t it mean my level of commitment wasn’t guaranteed and held no importance at all? This is ugliness, isn’t it? The kind that keeps my most desires away and would never let me know any happiness. This sight, says to many that get close enough to notice that while I am an intrigue, I am not one that lasts forever.

I had wished for long to die before I hate myself any more. But I’m not courageous enough to take my life, and feel I can’t ask God for such a thing. In turn I’ve started to ridicule myself, I never held any high hopes or thought anything special of my existence of course, I just, one time I thought I would know what it was like to feel appreciation for oneself, to acknowledge being human and be proud of that humanity but it seems I wished for too much, so much so I’ve started crying when I look in the mirror or laugh in ridicule; I hate what I say, even pampering the very same face; I wish it was something I could never see yet I know, even if I never saw the face again, the thoughts would remain the same and it brings back to death, perhaps that would be the greatest escape.

This has become my prayer.