Sometimes life happens to you. You get beat down, thrown around, and trampled on. It is hard to remember how to get up and brush yourself off. Some days it is hard to remember your past may have built you, but that is not all that you are. You are not some broken young girl left for dead in this world. You are the version of you that survives everyday. You are the version of you that looks for the sunshine in the rain. Just because you are broken, does not mean you are not beautiful. Everyone has a story to tell, what has made them who they are. Most of their story, the things that have built them or sculpted them, get shoved in the very back of their darkest closet, hidden to everyone but themselves forever. These are my skeletons, here is my closet

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