Self Titled

"Is it weird to say I love you?"

"Draw me some tattoos and I'll let [daughter] do them on me. I'll have your art and hers all over me."

His smile deepened, eyes twinkled, and his beautiful face was so sincere and sweet and loving.

And my face loves his face.

And I'm just letting it happen.

And being happy.

And loving.

Those moments when your life is exactly right.

I am at my depth.

I am holding my breath.

I am holding her down until her eyes roll to the back of her empty fucking head.

I will be pained until she stops fighting back.

Then there will be peace.

Then there will be emptiness.

All reasons will be ignored.

All memories stuffed down her rancid and rotting throat.

If you're tangible, I believe it. All of it.

If not, all I can think of is negative scenarios I begin to believe.

I convince myself the only reason I can have this, You, as much as you say I do, is because I'm being strung along for my punishment.

I will have finally been tricked into letting go only to have it thrown in my face for being a stupid little girl.

The little girl who had fallen for it once and become reduced to the invisible recipient of a terrible thing.

This leads to shutdown and shutoff. Can't let it happen again. Stupid little girl.

But then I see you again. And all that was so silly. Laughable. This is every beautiful thing it had ever been and should never be taken for granted. Stop wasting time! Be free! Believe!

Then your again gone. And I wonder if maybe you're just that good of an actor.

The way I love you makes me a maniacal, obsessive, nervous, mess. Truly fucking lovesick. And today it all came back to me and I remember why I chose to marry him.

I don’t care what he thinks about me. I don’t care about how he feels. I don’t cry over anything he says or does. My stomach isn’t in constant knots around him. My heart doesn’t/has never ached over him. It doesn’t quicken at just the thought of him. I’m not sleepless, lost, restless and frazzled. My mind doesn’t remind me he exists every minute. Nagging me to check my phone for a message or some sign he’s thinking of me too.

I push away and push around.

The only one that knows where my house is and can at least see in, I spray with poison when he gets too close to actually coming inside.

I am a mechanism in an experiment.

I am an April Fool’s.

I’m not a real person.

This want sickness is a painfully enjoyable addiction. It can take me away from an entire day. Just push me outside of my days’ bubble. Loosely tethered by the ankle as to prevent me from floating away.

But then comes the sick game my heart plays with my head. She tells me I am meant to belong to you. But only in the way that I am property and must fight to be important. She tells me if I don’t try, you’ll forget me. And I’ll just be something you had once. And it will be true.

Then I ache. Because I cannot expect anything more than this loop, this feedback. I am in exactly the place I deserve. Stuck in longing and uncertainty.

What you say does not match what I hear. You can say I’m so much more than a belonging. But all I hear is I’m making things too hard.