Writing To Sound My Thoughts And Escape This Life

First poem in YEARS

There are times in life when you just have to let things go. Admit that you wasted timed on someone who did not deserve it. Admit that you do not need them in your life.

To move is a really sobering time. It is the time in which one finds out just how much or how little they considered four walls and a door to be a home.

America is not great again until I can buy the same amount of razors as a guy and not have to pay at least two dollars more for them.

Rant

I am tired. Tired of the lies I must give out to everyone I meet. Tired of acting like everything is okay. Tired of not trusting anyone or thing. Tired of trying to control my emotions. Tired of being a mess. Tired of fighting. Tired of crying. But, most of all, I am tired of being tired.

If you fall in love with me, know this: you are falling in love with my flaws. You are not falling in love with some confident, thin, toned, flawless being. You are falling in love with my insecurities. My fat rolls. My jiggly thighs. My acne. My less-than-perfectness. You are not falling in love with a self-assured, motivated person. You are falling in love with my depression and anxious tendencies. You are falling in love with my 3 a.m. tears and fears, my 4 a.m. dry, unsleeping eyes. You are falling in love with my inability to motivate myself to eat. To sleep. To move. To do anything If you fall in love with me, you are falling in love with all of me, not just the parts you find appealing. I tell you this so that you know what you are getting into. I tell you this so you can see what you are falling in love with. I tell you this so that you may run away and never look back. I tell you this so that you will never love me, and never have the chance to hurt me. Everything that is me is now barred for you, so what will you do with it? Will you attempt to love the unlovable, like so many others, or will you be smart and run as far away from me as you can?

I found myself inside of a bottle. I found peace, not in another's arms, but in the tranquility the pills brought. I found hope of something better, not in the words of the masses, but in the way the light reflected off of cold, heavy metal. I found strength, not in myself, but in the words as they left my pen and began their life on paper. I found a source of comfort, not in those close to me, but in the sharpness of the blade. I found endurance, not in physical activities, but in seeing how long I could hold my breath and hang. I found a home, not inside of a house, but under the ground. But before it came to this, I lost myself in this world.