well, none really.
people are entitled to their own opinions. it is harsh, vicious and hard to swallow. as for me, i end up crying and catch my breath, hoping in between that gulps of air i get to swallow down these “maybe truths, maybe opinions”, digest it, and quickly released in my crap.
i wish it was that easy.
i rub subconsciously on the thick nub of skin growing slowly at the side of my finger. it used to be rough, but after two months of not using it, it has become this cyst-like object stuck at my finger, a reminder of this cancer that is growing inside me.
change my pov. let’s call it, “battle scars.”
“well, obviously you didn’t try enough. if other people were able to pass, why weren’t you? nakakahiya ka.”, she said. fine. maybe i deserved that. maybe i didn’t. what bothers me really, are not the numbers stamped by those who know more of the subject than i do, but the words thrown by those who are supposed to know me more.
in the end, i finally take a deep breath, wipe my eyes, clutch my chest (slow down little momma) and dust off the remnants of smut splattered all over me.
looks like my life plans have changed again.