unapologetic

I avoided writing because it reminded me of things I long to forget.

I now write to remind myself of those things.

I write because I was silenced for so long.

During a time when I was meant to be loud and unapologetic, flaunting my mistakes one after another, I was instead quiet and naive, terrified to move in any wrong direction.

The amount of times I’ve said sorry—both to myself and the world around me—weighs heavy. The version of myself I no longer recognize is actually hidden very deep inside. I nurture her and remind her that everything is okay, because no one ever did.

It’s so easy to be placed in a pretty box. The world watches you, rooting for you, wanting to be you, without recognizing the price you’ve paid to be here.

I’m not saying I have regrets. I’m not saying I wasn’t happy.

What I am saying is, once again, I’m sorry I’m not the version of myself you wanted. I’m sorry I outgrew the mold. And I’m sorry I’m not perfect.

Actually, fuck it—I’m not sorry.