these past few days, this poem that I wrote has really been resonating with me. things have never really gotten easier, I just started doing them anyway. every day is still a struggle, which often leaves me wondering why. why is it so hard? why do I want to give up and do things that I know are no good for me?

I smoke cigarettes
I used to tear open my skin
I've detached myself from my body,
and sold it,
for money and for drugs.
Was I trying to get rid of it?
And give it up entirely to another?
We don't jump off the plane
on our way to vacation,
or dive out of our cars,
as we drive down the highway.
So why should I abort my vessel?