#streamwriting

Come watch me write. Or do nothing, I'm not sure yet.

You are welcome to comment whatever you want, even if it's telling me I suck at writing, nothing makes sense, or the true function of a rubber duck.

Thank you ahead of time, you attention is appreciated.

Will be posting this all week....or whenever I'm working on this.

I'm writing a paper   and crying          for all the things missed  and all the people       missed even more. And it doesn't make any sense.

I don't deserve someone      as good as you             so please run away   before I begin to show           my crazy.

Because I have just started                 to remember what it's like       to feel like darkness    isn't the only thing waiting for me.

But I can't do anything right.            Including this.     Ask anyone. My failure  is relatively well known.               A reputation      that precedes just about everything   I would rather be.

Just once        I'd like for enough     to be a 2 a.m. bedtime              and a mug of cold coffee      waiting to be reheated.  To be too much asked              but never enough answers    unless there are dinosaur noises          and teddy bear tickles.        To be anything and everything   and nothing all at once                 because most days           that's exactly what breathing     feels like.

This is a story I'm too afraid to tell. One of those things too heavy to go bump in the night. Keep an eye on the corners. He used to whisper when he thought I wasn't listening.   I heard it all. The shadows used to move with the seasons. I always liked spring the best. Until he stole my summer. And now I can't smell sunscreen without feeling the bruises bloom.   This was my secret.     I kept it.     I kept it.     I kept it.   He made me. Please, please take it. The wind stays trapped in the rafters. I stay hanging - I sway in the breeze. Tell me you can save me.   Want and need collide to destroy, here. There isn't anything left. He took it.   He took it all. But he left me. Should be in small pieces. But I'm whole. Somehow whole but not ready. Don't open the book.   He might get out. I need to keep him in the blue lined pages. I need to keep him on the shelf. Don't tell me you're sorry. I offer no explanation and expect none in return. Hush.   Did you hear that? The snow says he misses me. Hand me my mittens. Maybe this isn't over yet. Winter is different. Nothing can possibly hurt when the snow is this soft. Wait. Let me tell you a secret.

I'll keep my words     you keep your secrets                   we're not ready          for any sort of trade   no matter how badly      we both want to                      yes...both of us              that's one of the secrets    you let slip               those words you mumble in your sleep        sound a lot more like            want you want       and less and less like                          what we actually are so agree with whatever                  and I'll pretend not to notice           looks and touches and everything    that falls in the smaller spaces      of in-between                  and in the meantime   these words aren't yours              but this is my secret     they aren't mine either                       they can't be  they're too busy                not existing         kind of like us

i'm realizing things about myself    most of which i thought                   i already knew         or maybe                i was just hoping      i had it all wrong                      either way  this is a lot less fun              than i somehow seem      to make it look and i'm tired of trying to blame             something                       anything      just like i'm tired of looking                  for something           anything                               to fix it            as unbroken as i finally feel     it's really just another lie                            i've got myself believing      but please                save the i told you so   and just once                let this be about me

you give me much more credit than you should but still i'm sorry i hurt you and forgive me if i can't look at you right now i'm too afraid i might start to cry you and i are a think i can't undo although at times i wish i could - not to forget but to save us   from whatever we became   in the immediate seconds after- but i wouldn't actually trade a single second and you want to know why i say that you don't count   that we don't count so i'm going to tell you even though it's incredibly selfish and foolish but you of all people should know that's just kind of me but no it's because if we counted then i don't think that i could live with myself - because it would mean i was right   when i told myself that   good    just wasn't something i deserve- you did though deserve good which is another explanation this one for why i couldn't why i left