The spotlight on the stage here shines into my eyes. It hurts. But not in a bad way, in a bewildering way. A deer in the headlight, quite literally. A deer in the headlights. A comparison often made by my mother, I always looked curious and confused. It never occured that frightened would've been one of the things she meant. 

I've gathered you here today to explain in prose or poetry. Well it is more a eulogy kind of way, who I was, who I am and who and how I've come to be. 

I am a contradiction you see. I let go whenever I feel I've held them too tightly. How could they hurt me when I choose to rip myself off, bleed away and limp through the woods without them. Hopeful they won't follow, or perhaps deep inside hoping they will. Follow, follow me, see my love language is trying. 

Try to love me, I dare you. But do not come close to me when I've had enough. I need you to ask me if I'm okay, but I won't tell the truth. I need to know you're there but I'll run away from you. And I need to know that might be okay. Okay for you because how could I forgive myself for hating the thing you love? 

Hating the thing you love, or are you loving the thing I hate? I want you to let go of me. I need to be free. So I can hate the thing you love. So I can feel free while I hate. So I don't have to pray to the man above, for grace, for forgiveness of cursing myself. 

The man above. Who evidently is there, you hear It everywhere, who has forsaken me and left. When I needed him, that time I needed him most. Did he go on holiday? I don't need an explanation, I don't need a god I don't need a man in the sky. I need someone who will at least hear when I pray. I cannot suffer alone over all this decay, this rotten heart, you listened to me in dark. How could you shelter me?

We both knew it was time you should let go, but I did not want to and with that I ripped you apart. How sorry I must be. How worn out my arm is, you can see the holes and wounds. Observe them, don't heal them, ask yourself if you hate yourself enough to have the same ones

So I'll write my own eulogy step onto the stage and I might, Finally, simply, hopefully let go