Little woes

My days are full,full of emptiness. I think about death at least once a day, how would it differ than life. I don't want to die, but does death hurt like this hell on earth? Life without stress sounds like heaven. Stress has followed me like a tumbleweed, collecting burdens through the deserted years. My burdens are the past that I cannot brush off, a stain that will never wash out. What's worst than a broken heart? A bruised one,blackened from years of insults and dirty hands. A little girl trapped in a woman's body is a mistake, a curse,and what's this all for? What positive fate lies ahead for this entrapment? Will stories, I mean truths, unfold? How many hearts will be broken if this one heart explodes? How many bruises could I heal, or how many could I prevent? Maybe I will grow up when my truth is free.