Alone

Dear god, sleepy intimacy makes me so very happy.

“yeah, i know, sometimes people don’t really love you, they love how you make them feel and i’ve been spending so much time wondering if that’s how you feel about me, wondering if i was always just something to fill the void in your self-confidence, but now i’m realizing how much truth is in the opposite, how you can make me feel like sunshine and still be sandpaper, and i’m starting to realize how much you’ve really changed me, how much better i’ve gotten, how much love you’ve helped me give myself, and how little that says about you. because that doesn’t make you the person i have built you to be in my head, it just means you are an important part of my own story, and i don’t know if i love you anymore. i guess i don’t know what that means. it’s more complicated that that and it runs deeper. it’s an appreciation i can’t put words to, an endless game of tug-of-war and the only one winning is my arm strength. so i tell you we’re not right for each other and then clench my mouth shut when i have nightmares of you with other girls. so i’m trying to do things behind your back because you’re doing things behind my back but i know i’m doing that thing again where i’m over-exaggerating a situation because you’re not here to convince me it’s not true but this feeling in my chest is more poetic than any bouquet of words i could give you, so i’m a walking poem, so i’m a little lost without you but i guess i like being lost. i guess i like it better than surrendering to the darkness.”

“And one day, the poetry didn’t fix anything”

“Damn us poets we see poetry when others see hurt.”

“I’m not normal. I always tell you that you shouldn’t love me, and that bothers you, and I’m sorry. But I’m the girl that sleeps at 8PM one night, then 3AM the next. I drink my coffee at night, and I always have to have a cold drink with it because I count it as more of a luxury than a fluid. I can’t catch a ball to save my life but I have these weeks where all I’ll do is go outside and throw a ball up and try to catch it on the way down. I can walk in a straight line no matter how many shots I’ve had, yet I lack any common coordination even so. I hate the word hate, yet I use it daily (never for a specific person). I consider myself a writer, yet I only write when it’s midnight and I’ve lost sight of who I am. I love to read but I have weeks where I don’t have the patience to pick up a book. My heart beats at abnormal rates, but never drastically enough for worries. There are days when I’m optimistic and pessimistic all at the same time and I still don’t understand the balance of that imbalance. I didn’t know my left from my right until I was ten, but I knew what sex was by age seven. I have an “I don’t care what people think of me” mindset, but my life is constructed on the foundation that is social influence. Half the time I want to punch you, but I want to kiss it better even before I do it. I see into other people’s emotions and interpret them and morph them into something that fits my life. I’m fucked up. I’m imperfect and I’m not normal. Don’t try to tell me that nobody’s perfect nor normal. No matter how true that statement is proven, nobody is ever this far off from it, and there’s nothing you can say that’s gonna make that any different. I am different in the worst way possible. I can speak these words. I can tell you every negative trait of me, unintentionally avoiding any positive aspect I’ve ever seen in myself. I can tell you about me. I can go on and on, except I don’t know who I am, and this simply further supports my claims.”

“I think I always wanted love to prove me wrong in the end. See, I’m pretty cynical. I’m sceptical. I don’t believe in love at first sight and I don’t think there is only one person in this world for each and every one of us. I don’t believe that there’s someone out there waiting for me, expecting me, looking for the right moment to rush into my life at full speed and rescue me. To fix me. To make me a better person. Maybe I was never comfortable not knowing where exactly I was going. I prodded at things until they ignited, I added fuel to the fire until it all crashed and burned. I saw the end long before it was coming. I loved long and hard, and short and heated, but I never found the feeling I’d been looking for. That others described but that I could never really relate to. But I’m hopeful. I’m adaptive. I believe that you can meet someone and instantly know that this person will play a bigger role in your life. That you look at them and feel your heart rush into your throat and you know, oh you know, that this is going to be new and exciting and beautiful, no matter how long it lasts. I believe that some souls respond to ours in kind, and that we will run into these people we are supposed to meet, no matter which way we choose to go. Perhaps I even have to admit that I believe that there’s someone out there waiting for me, expecting me, who can’t wait to finally meet me. I still want love to prove me wrong. I’m waiting for it to knock me off my feet, to make me believe in all the things I called silly before, to show me things I’ve never seen before. To be honest, I’m simply waiting for somebody to come along who takes all of my beliefs and breaks them apart piece by piece.”

me: I’m over it

“I can’t grow in the place that made me sick, but I have nowhere else to go. I have no choice but to call this place my home.”